• 


WILD   LIFE  AND 
THE   CAMERA 

A.RADCLYFFE  DUG/ " ~ ~~ 


WILD   LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 


Mallard  rising.  The  speed  with  which  these  birds  rise  is  clearly 
shown  by  the  water,  which  has  not  subsided,  although  the  bird  is  five 
feet  or  more  in  the  air. 


WILD  LIFE 
AND  THE  CAMERA 


BY 

A.   RADCLYFFE  DUGMORE,    F.R.G.S 


ILLUSTRATED 


PHILADELPHIA:    J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

LONDON  :    WILLIAM    HEINEMANN 

MCMXII 


Printed  in  England. 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.     PART  I. — BIRD  PHOTOGRAPHY     .         .         .  3 

PART  II. — ANIMAL  PHOTOGRAPHY       .         .  16 

II.     THE  CARIBOU  MIGRATION  IN  NEWFOUNDLAND  27 

III.  THE  STORY  OF  A  PORCUPINE  HUNT     .         .  49 

IV.  BIRDS  AND  THE  CAMERA              ,         .         .  68 
V.     "  BLUEY  "  :    A  TRUE  STORY  OF  THE  VERY 

BEST  PET  BIRD  .         .         .         .         .       75 

VI.    MY  CHICADEE  FRIENDS      ,         .         ,         .       98 

VII.    THE  WARBLER  FAMILY    ' -.         .         .         .     115 

VIII.      THE  VlREO  AND  THE  COWBIRD     .  .  .       129 

IX.    NOTES  ON  THE  BREEDING  HABITS  OF  THE 

AMERICAN  WOODCOCK          .         .         .     189 
X.    SHOOTING  WILD  DUCKS  AND  GEESE  WITH 

THE  CAMERA       .         .         .         .         .147 
XI.    THE     WHISTLING     SWAN     OF     CURRITUCK 

SOUND       .         .  '      .         .         .         .     157 
XII.     Two  'POSSUMS  AND  SEVERAL  MISTAKES       .     167 

XIII,  A  FISHING  TRIP  IN  THE  HIGH  SIERRAS  OF 

CALIFORNIA  FOR  GILBERT  AND  GOLDEN 
TROUT 177 

XIV.  YELLOW     TAIL     FISHING     OFF    CATALINA 

ISLAND      .         *         .         .         .         .     203 
XV.    FISHING  FOR  SEA-TROUT  IN  NEW  BRUNS- 
WICK RIVERS      ...     .,;  ,;.        .         .         .211 
XVI.     MY  FIRST  SALMON  :    A  FISHING  TRIP  TO 

NEWFOUNDLAND         .         .         .         .     225 

XVII.     SALMON  FISHING  IN  NEWFOUNDLAND          .     237 

XVIII.    ALONE  UP  MT.  KATAHDIN  .       •  ,  .      .         •     257 

XIX.     THE  HEART  OF  WINTER     /        .         .         ,     275 

XX.    MORE  ABOUT  WINTER  AND  THE  TRACKS  OF 

THE  ANIMALS  IN  THE  SNOW  .         .         .     287 
XXI.    THE  LIFE  OF  THE  TRAPPER,  THE  MAN  FOR 
WHOM  COLD  WEATHER  is  A  SOURCE  OF 
LIVELIHOOD        .         .         .         .         .     297 
XXII.     CAMPING  FOR  ALL  SEASONS  .         *     807 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

WILD  MALLARD  RISING  .          .         1^    :\V'A       Frontispiece 

TO   FACE   PAGE 

STUDY  OF  YOUNG  BIRDS  AT  THEIR  MOST  BECOMING 

AGE        .          ......       -L;>     10 

WOOD  THRUSH  ON  NEST          ....       a ;       14 

NEWFOUNDLAND  CARIBOU  IN  MIGRATION  .         .      ,/ ..'      80 
THIS   HERD   OF   CARIBOU   SWAM   ACROSS   THE   RIVER 

DIRECTLY   IN   FRONT   OF  MY    CAMP         i.  •*          ;M     iv         34 

EVENING   ON   SANDY   RIVER.     IN  THE   FOREGROUND 

ARE  TWO  CARIBOU  WHICH  HAVE  JUST  CROSSED     .       36 
ONCE   IN  A  GREAT  WHILE  THE   HERD    IS   LED    BY  A 

STAG  .        *    .  ,        -     .  •  tftf    iK   v   W        40 

STAG  CARIBOU,  PHOTOGRAPHED  AT  A  DISTANCE  OF  NOT 

MORE   THAN   NINE   YARDS    .        1   *"    JA'X.  •'   ?'••'..•'•    -   ;•       42 

THE  PORCUPINE  AND  THE  ABANDONED  CAMP  IN  THE 

SNOW     rim    vv        .        •%&:      .         .      <•  /.     >i-i<-  56 

THE  PORCUPINE,  THE  MAN  AND  THE  HALF  DUG-OUT  .  58 

THE  UNRULY  BROOD  OF  FLYCATCHERS    .      r-i.      ',i;t;  64 

THE  SAME  BROOD  READY  FOR  FOOD         ^r-»  :.i.C'V    ^v  64 

THE  TAMENESS  OF  A  FAMILY  OF  CHIPPING  SPARROWS  .  68 

YOUNG  RED-EYED  VIREO        .         .      i<v  .J.  [  *.       -j  70 

"BLUEY"      .....         .         .<*    M<     ?'*;  80 

CHICADEE  FLYING  TO  MY  HAND,  IN  WHICH  SIT  THE 

HUNGRY  BROOD        .        ?jr=>  •  'V     :>.-'      *         3  108 

ONE  OF  THE  YOUNG  CHICADEES    :-..^    n^ i  i  v     f  ^'  110 

THE  WORM-EATING  WARBLER  ON  HER  NEST    .      v-y-»  us 

THE  FAMILY  OF  WORM-EATING  WARBLERS     -5??.      .  122 
WORM-EATING  WARBLER  FEEDING  HER  YOUNG  ON  MY 

HAND      .         .         .      v  S'.*  \w  ,  /.     :i>.n;  -;V  124 
A  WHITE-EYED  VIREO,  WHOSE  DESIRE  FOR  ORNAMEN- 
TATION LED  HER  TO  COVER  HER  BEAUTIFUL  SEMI- 
PENSILE  NEST  WITH  SMALL  PIECES  OF  WOOD  THAT 

HAD   BEEN   CUT   BY   A   WOODPECKER    .          ?-V  •    '>-*  130 

W.L.C.  b 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


TO   FACE   PAGE 


VlREO's  NEST,  IN  WHICH  A  COWBIRD  HAS  LAID  ITS  EGG       132 
THE     SAME     NEST     CUT    IN     HALF    TO     SHOW     RELATIVE 

POSITIONS  OF  COWBIRD'S  AND  VIREO'S  EGGS  .  182 
WOODCOCK  SITTING  ON  NEST  1  ,v!  .  .  142 

WILD  CANADA  GEESE  IN  FLIGHT     .         .         .         .152 
WHISTLING  SWANS  OFF  THE  VIRGINIA  COAST    .         .158 
"A  LONG  NOSE  PROTRUDED  FROM  THE  NEST".         .     168 
TOSSUMS.     "NEARER  AND  NEARER  HE  CAME  UNTIL 
HIS  NOSE  WAS  VISIBLE  OVER  THE  EDGE  OF  THE 
LARGE  KNOB".         .      ,  .-     TV';    *&&       •      V  .'     170 
PLAYING  TOSSUM — "  TOSSUM  II.  DECIDED  TO  HAVE 
A  LOOK  AND  WITHOUT  CHANGING  HIS  POSITION  HE 
OPENED  HIS  ROUND  DARK  EYES  "      .         .         .172 
THE  OPEN  PARK-LIKE  DRY  COUNTRY  AT  THE  FOOT- 

HILLS  OF  THE  SlERRAS  OF  CALIFORNIA  .  .180 
RIDING  ALONG  THE  STEEP  SLOPES  ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE 

KERN  RIVER  .  .  .,..,,  .  182 
THE  KERN  RIVER  VALLEY  ,va'  f-w.<  -^  r  n*rr  ;  ;  184 
FISHING  IN  THE  KERN  RIVER  *  >-.  T  :j,y  i*  .>;«  :  ?;?v*  188 
VOLCANO  CREEK  .  ,'/«<'T/  '.?.«•/.•  tivir  «  >ifc  -n  .  ;  V  190 
LANDING  A  LARGE  GILBERT  TROUT  IN  THE  KERN 

RIVER  (CALIFORNIA)  '  v.  &U  i  MT.  ,r-  .  .  192 
SEA-TROUT  FISHING  IN  NEW  BRUNSWICK  .  .214 
LEAPING  SALMON  .  r^v'4  ;<<^i  rv^  •  •  •  240 
LEAPING  SALMON  ;  THE  LINE  is  FAINTLY  VISIBLE  .  240 
MENDING  A  CANOE  WITH  CARIBOU  HIDES  IN  NEW- 
FOUNDLAND .  .  .  ,  .  .  244 
IN  THE  DENSE  WOODS  BELOW  KATAHDIN  .  .  260 

"  THE     NORTH-EAST     SIDE     OF     THE     MOUNTAIN     IS     AN 
ABRUPT  PRECIPICE  OF  SOLID  ROCK  ABOUT  4,000  FEET 

HIGH"     .      ;5$.  :»:!>..".     ;•*.:.<  ../,/f       .          .          .     268 
THE  WINTER  WOODS   /, if    >,  «v,  :  /;?.      .         .         .276 
TRACKS  IN  THE  SNOW.     THE  DEEP  FOOTPRINTS  ARE 
THOSE  OF  A   SQUIRREL  WHICH   WAS   EVIDENTLY 
CAUGHT  BY  AN  OWL  OR  A  HAWK,  WHOSE  WING 
TRACKS  ARE  CLEARLY  SHOWN   ....     280 
IN  THE  WINTER,  WHEN  EVERY  TWIG  IS  COVERED  WITH 

A   GLISTENING    COAT    OF   ICE  282 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS  xi 

TO  FACE  PAGE 

TRACKS  IN  THE  SNOW  SHOWING  WHERE  A  MUSK  RAT 

HAS  COME  FROM  AND  RETURNED  TO  THE  WATER  .  288 

TRACKS  IN  THE  SNOW  SHOWING  WHERE  A  MINK  HAS 
CAUGHT  A  MUSK  RAT  AS  IT  EMERGED  FROM  A  HOLE 

IN  THE  ICE  .  .  .  .  .  ...  .  292 

"  JOE,"  THE  ONE-ARMED  TRAPPER  AND  HIS  CABIN    .  300 

"  JOE,"    THE    ONE-ARMED    TRAPPER    .             ,             .             .  302 

CAMPING   IN   WINTER   WITH   THE   THERMOMETER   20° 

BELOW  ZERO             .         .         .         »         . '    •    .  308 

WINTER  CAMPING.     CROSSING  A  SNOW-COVERED  LAKE  310 

WINTER  CAMPING  IN  FLORIDA          /  318 


BIRD  PHOTOGRAPHY 
ANIMAL  PHOTOGRAPHY 


\V.I,.C. 


CHAPTER  I 

PART  I 
BIRD  PHOTOGRAPHY 

WHILE  book-illustrating  has  changed  continually 
since  printing  was  first  discovered,  perhaps  the 
greatest  improvement  has  been  made  in  pictures  of 
birds  and  animals,  and  it  is  largely  to  the  camera 
that  we  owe  this  great  improvement.  Until  quite 
recently  only  drawings  were  used  for  illustrations, 
and  with  subjects  such  as  birds  "  the  personal 
equation  "  played  so  prominent  a  part  that  one  felt 
a  certain  sense  of  doubt  as  to  the  accuracy  even  of 
fairly  good  drawings. 

For  my  own  part  I  had  never  been  satisfied  with 
drawings  of  birds  ;  and  therefore,  giving  up  the 
pencil,  I  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  those  who 
were  experimenting  with  bird  photography.  All 
my  earlier  attempts  were  with  mounted  specimens, 
at  first  without  any  accessories.  But  the  photo- 
graphs seemed  hard  and  unlifelike.  Then  I  tried 
placing  the  mounted  bird  in  natural  surroundings, 
either  out  of  doors  or  beneath  a  skylight.  The 
pictures  were  fairly  satisfactory,  but  still  there  was 
no  disguising  the  fact  that  the  bird  was  mounted. 
The  eyes,  and  usually  the  legs,  told  the  story. 
The  pictures  were  unsympathetic  ;  it  was  as  though 

B  2 


4     WILD  LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

^  »7"*  ""*  **' 

one  had  photographed  the  wax  model  of  a  friend. 
The  likeness  was  there,  but  the  life  was  lacking. 
And  there  was  another  objection :  although  to  the 
casual  observer  the  specimen  may  appear  well 
mounted,  how  rarely  is  shown  the  characteristic 
pose  so  subtle  and  delicate  in  its  infinite  variety. 
But  few  taxidermists  are  naturalists,  and  without 
endless  study  of  living  birds  how  can  anyone  expect 
to  know  the  attitudes  assumed  by  the  different 
species  ?  The  human  eye  itself  is  scarcely  quick 
enough  to  take  note  of  these  things,  and  so  it  is  to 
the  camera  that  we  must  turn,  and  use  it  as  eye, 
notebook,  and  pencil.  It  was  the  realisation  of  this 
fact  that  led  me  finally  to  try  the  fascinating  but 
difficult  task  of  photographing  the  living  bird. 

To  begin  with,  only  nestlings  were  my  models, 
and  I  was  delighted  with  the  results — no  glass  eyes 
nor  dried-up  legs  to  mar  the  picture,  but  expressions 
as  varied  as  they  were  beautiful,  and  positions 
entirely  different  from  those  seen  in  mounted 
specimens.  These  successes  led  me,  of  course, 
to  attempt  photographing  the  adult  bird,  and  I 
made  many  experiments  with  tame  birds.  It  was 
necessary  to  have  a  place  arranged  so  that  there 
might  be  abundant  light ;  and  to  avoid  sameness 
in  the  arrangement  of  the  lighting,  the  contrivance 
must  be  movable.  I  made  a  wooden  platform 
(supported  on  two  light  wooden  horses)  about  six 
feet  long,  and  covered  it  with  mosquito  netting 
stretched  on  a  light  framework.  The  background 
was  of  wood,  to  which  could  be  attached  paper  or 
cloth  of  any  desired  shade.  The  camera  could  be 
moved  backward  or  forward  and  secured  with  a 


BIRD   PHOTOGRAPHY  5 

tripod  screw.  Into  this  portable  cage  the  bird  was 
to  be  put,  and  as  there  was  only  one  perch — usually 
a  stick  or  small  branch  of  convenient  shape  and 
size — I  fondly  imagined  that  the  bird  would  sit 
pretty  nearly  where  I  wished.  But  I  was  doomed 
to  disappointment.  When  I  put  the  bird  in,  any 
place  and  every  place  suited  him  better  than  the 
perch  so  carefully  arranged  for  his  special  comfort. 
When  a  bird,  no  matter  how  tame  he  may  be,  is 
placed  amid  new  and  unusual  surroundings,  he  is 
at  first  greatly  frightened,  and  therefore  quite 
unmanageable.  It  usually  requires  some  time  to 
prove  to  him  that  the  new  cage  will  not  harm  him. 
So  I  found  my  cage  not  altogether  a  success,  but 
by  patience  I  managed  to  obtain  some  satisfactory 
photographs. 

THE  SPORT  OF  PHOTOGRAPHING  WILD  BIRDS 

It  was  not  long  before  I  was  led  to  attempt  the 
task  of  photographing  the  adult  bird  in  its  wild 
state  and  in  its  natural  surroundings.  It  was  then 
I  began  to  appreciate  the  fascination  of  the  work. 
Looked  at  from  any  one  of  several  standpoints, 
the  photographing  of  wild  birds  will  be  found 
equally  satisfactory.  As  a  sport  it  should  take  a 
high  place,  for  undoubtedly  the  skill  as  well  as  the 
perseverance  and  the  instinct  of  the  hunter  is  a 
necessary  requirement,  and  a  successful  shot  with 
the  camera  is  far  more  difficult  to  obtain  than  a 
correspondingly  fortunate  (on  one  side  only)  shot 
from  a  gun.  Then,  too,  the  accomplishment  of 
one's  desire  leaves  behind  it  no  disagreeable  taste 


6     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

to  mar  the  pleasure.  What  sportsman  is  there 
(and  I  speak  neither  of  pot  hunters  nor  "  game 
hogs  ")  who,  hearing  the  death-bleat  of  a  deer,  does 
not  at  heart  wish  his  shot  had  miscarried  ?  Then, 
as  a  means  of  really  becoming  acquainted  with  birds, 
the  camera  is  without  an  equal,  for  to  be  even  a 
moderately  successful  bird  photographer,  one  must 
have  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  subject ;  and 
the  camera,  in  teaching  us  to  know  the  birds,  must 
of  necessity  stimulate  our  affection  for  these  useful 
and  defenceless  creatures.  As  a  recorder  of  facts 
it  is  of  great  scientific  value,  for  it  cannot  lie,  and 
it  records  in  an  unmistakable  form  every  detail 
presented,  whether  it  be  the  daily  growth  of  a 
nestling  or  the  exquisite  detail  of  the  bird's  nest. 

It  is.  however,  to  the  keen  pleasure  that  may  be 
derived  from  this  new  sport  that  I  would  particu- 
larly call  attention.  Not  only  is  there  the  delight 
in  overcoming  difficulties  (and  they  will  be  found 
both  numerous  and  varied),  but  there  is  the  pleasure 
of  being  placed  among  surroundings  that  are 
inseparable  from  this  pursuit.  A  rich  harvest  of 
interesting  facts  relating  to  the  bird's  home  life 
may  be  gathered  by  any  observing  person  who 
spends  much  time  along  the  hedge-rows  or  in  the 
woods. 

He  who  would  hunt  birds  with  the  camera  will 
find  that  without  doubt  the  breeding  season  is  the 
time  best  suited  to  his  purpose,  for  then  the 
feathered  housekeepers  are  restricted  in  their 
individual  range  to  a  comparatively  limited  area. 
Having  learned  the  situation  of  their  house,  he 
may  find  them  at  home  when  he  calls,  engaged  in 


BIRD   PHOTOGRAPHY  7 

attending  to  their  various  domestic  duties.  The 
first  thing  to  do  after  the  introduction,  i.e.,  learning 
their  name,  is  to  obtain  their  confidence,  and,  with 
birds  as  with  people,  there  must  be  confidence  if 
we  wish  friendship.  How  easily  one  may  gain 
this  confidence  depends  quite  as  much  upon  the 
individuality  of  the  bird  as  upon  the  species.  The 
fear  of  man  is  inherent  in  all  birds,  but  by  judicious 
management  this  fear  can  to  some  extent  be 
allayed. 


AVlNNING   THE    CONFIDENCE    OF    WlLD    BlRDS 

A  great  many  instances  have  come  before  my 
notice  of  the  change  in  a  bird's  behaviour  from 
extreme  fear  and  distrust  to  a  degree  of  confidence, 
which,  to  the  inexperienced,  seems  almost  incon- 
ceivable. The  power  to  tame  birds  or  animals  is 
thought  to  belong  peculiarly  to  certain  persons. 
This  may  or  may  not  be  true,  but  from  my  own 
observations  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  tameness 
is  a  qualityrather  of  the  natural  disposition  of  the 
individual,  bird,  or  animal. 

With  some  birds  I  have  spent  days  in  trying  to 
convince  them  that  I  intended  no  harm,  yet  they 
placed  not  the  slightest  confidence  in  me,  and 
would  not  even  feed  their  young  if  I  were  in 
sight.  Others  of  the  same  species  became  accus- 
tomed to  my  presence  after  less  than  an  hour, 
showing  their  confidence  by  coming  to  their  young 
while  I  stood  in  plain  sight,  within  a  few  feet  of 
the  nest.  It  is  in  the  difficulty  of  familiarising 
the  bird  with  ourselves  and  the  camera  that  we 


8     WILD  LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

experience  the  greatest  obstacle  to  photographing 
them. 

Of  the  many  delightful  birds  I  have  had  the 
good  fortune  to  know,  the  worm-eating  warbler 
family,  whose  portraits  are  shown  elsewhere,  have 
afforded  me  the  greatest  pleasure,  for  they  became 
absolutely  fearless  of  the  camera,  and  they  placed 
a  degree  of  trust  in  me  that  was  as  unusual  as  it 
was  delightful. 

To  photograph  the  nest  containing  eggs  is 
usually  a  comparatively  easy  matter,  as  a  long 
exposure  may  be  given.  The  best  results  are 
obtained  when  a  grey  day  is  chosen,  as  the  light  is 
softer  and  more  diffused,  so  that  all  the  details, 
both  of  nest  and  eggs,  are  clearly  shown.  A  very 
different  task  is  the  photographing  of  the  young 
in  the  nest,  and  the  resulting  pictures  are  seldom 
what  one  hopes  for.  The  reasons  for  this  are 
obvious.  The  young  are  never  quiet  even  when 
asleep,  owing  to  their  rapid  respiration.  This 
precludes  a  time  exposure,  and  this  in  turn  pre- 
vents the  use  of  anything  but  a  large  diaphragm  ; 
therefore,  as  the  distance  from  the  near  edge  of  the 
nest  to  the  bird  farthest  away  is  several  inches, 
only  a  small  part  can  be  in  focus,  while  the  rest  is 
a  blurred  mass.  If  the  light  is  sufficiently  bright, 
the  best  results  may  be  obtained  when  the  nest- 
lings raise  their  heads  for  food,  as  each  bird  is  then 
more  clearly  defined,  instead  of  being  a  part  of  a 
shapeless,  heaving  mass.  This  applies  more  par- 
ticularly to  the  photographing  of  small  birds,  as 
the  camera,  with  a  lens  of  ordinary  focal  length, 
has  to  be  placed  very  near  the  nest,  with  the 


BIRD   PHOTOGRAPHY  9 

consequent  lack  of  depth  of  focus  that  is  unfortu- 
nately inseparable  from  such  conditions. 

To  photograph  the  parent  bird  sitting  is  difficult 
or  easy  according  to  the  disposition  of  the  bird, 
which  varies  not  only  with  the  different  species, 
but  with  individuals  of  the  same  species.  Usually 
the  brown  thrasher,  the  wood  thrush,  or  the  catbird 
will  sit  close,  and  allow  the  camera  to  be  placed 
within  a  few  feet  of  them  wrhile  they  are  on  the 
nest ;  but  I  have  seen  exceptions,  which  go  to 
prove  that  success  depends  largely  upon  the 
peculiar  disposition  of  the  bird  itself.  People,  as  a 
rule,  think  that,  because  a  bird  builds  its  nest  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  a  house,  it  is  necessarily 
tamer  than  one  that  chooses  the  quiet  seclusion 
of  the  woods.  This  has  not  been  my  experience, 
for  the  tamest  birds  I  have  ever  known  were  those 
that  nested  in  places  comparatively  remote  from 
human  habitation. 

When  the  fledglings  leave  their  nest,  the  bird 
photographer  should  be  on  hand,  for  then  it  is  that 
he  can  obtain  the  best  pictures,  as  the  youngsters 
may  be  put  on  any  perch  that  best  suits  his  fancy, 
and  a  place  where  there  is  sufficient  light  may  be 
chosen.  For  the  benefit  of  those  who  might  wish 
to  try  their  hand  at  this  fascinating  branch  of 
photography  I  give  the  following  suggestions : — 

Select  a  branch  or  briar  of  suitable  shape  and 
size — and  young  birds  prefer  a  fairly  thick  perch. 
This  should  be  arranged  so  that  it  will  not  be 
swayed  by  the  wind,  lest  the  branch  move  and  the 
birds  be  out  of  focus.  Bright  sunlight  is  necessary, 
as  the  exposure  must  not  exceed  one-fiftieth  of  a 


10   WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

second.  With  such  a  short  exposure  the  shadows 
are  likely  to  be  lacking  in  detail,  so  it  is  advisable 
to  place  beneath  the  birds  a  white  cloth,  and  this 
should  be  tilted  to  such  an  angle  that  the  reflected 
light  shall  strike  those  parts  of  the  birds  that  are  in 
shadow. 

If  the  natural  background  is  not  strongly  sunlit, 
it  will  be  an  advantage  to  use  a  white  or  light- 
grey  cloth  as  an  artificial  background,  but  it 
should  be  placed  at  a  reasonable  distance  from  the 
birds ;  from  four  to  eight  feet  will  answer.  Now 
place  the  little  fellows  on  the  perch  and  arrange 
the  camera,  remembering —if  you  wish  to  photo- 
graph the  parent  bird  with  her  young — to  leave 
sufficient  space  between  the  young  birds  and  the 
edge  of  the  plate,  so  that  no  matter  on  which  side 
the  old  one  comes  to  feed  them  the  camera  will  be 
in  readiness.  All  that  remains  to  be  done  is  to 
attach  a  long  rubber  tube  to  the  shutter.  Then  sit 
down  in  an  inconspicuous  place  and  wait  patiently 
until  the  old  birds  have  fully  convinced  themselves 
that  no  harm  is  intended.  Then  they  will  venture 
near  the  camera  and  feed  their  hungry  young. 

Any  one  who  uses  the  camera  as  a  means  of 
studying  bird  life  will  undoubtedly  be  surprised  to 
find  how  marked  is  the  individuality  of  birds.  Not 
by  casual  observation  does  one  discover  this,  but  in 
the  intimacy  with  the  birds  that  one  acquires  when 
one  watches  for  hours  at  a  time  the  bird  upon 
whose  nest  or  young  one  may  happen  to  have  the 
instrument  focused. 

A  camera,  to  be  rigid  and  sufficiently  durable 
to  stand  several  seasons  of  field  work,  must  be 


*•*' 


BIRD   PHOTOGRAPHY  11 

fairly  heavy,  though  not  of  necessity  large.  A 
sufficient  size  for  most  work  is  five  by  seven  inches, 
while  some  even  prefer  one  as  small  as  four  by  five. 
This  latter  is  of  convenient  size  for  those  who  wish 
to  have  lantern  slides  made  from  their  negatives, 
and  is  certainly  far  better  adapted  to  all  whose 
enthusiasm  is  limited,  and  who  do  not  wish  to 
overburden  themselves. 

For  my  own  part  I  use  the  five  by  seven  almost 
exclusively,  and  frequently  I  wish  it  were  larger, 
particularly  when  the  subject  to  be  photographed 
is  the  parent  bird  feeding  her  young  after  they 
have  left  the  nest.  Place  four  or  five  fledglings  on 
a  branch,  leaving  sufficient  space  on  either  side  to 
allow  the  old  bird  to  stand,  and  reduce  all  this 
interesting  material  down  to  a  five-inch  space,  arid 
you  will  realise  the  advantage  of  even  the  extra 
two  inches  allowed  by  the  five  by  seven.  How 
many  times  has  it  happened  to  me  to  have  the 
father  or  mother  bird  perch  just  outside  the  limits 
of  my  five  by  seven  plate,  and  assume  some  attitude 
that  I  was  most  anxious  to  catch ;  and  again  how 
often  has  the  plate  through  its  limited  size  cut  off 
part  of  the  adult  bird.  In  such  cases  I  long  for  my 
larger  camera  which,  on  account  of  its  weight,  has 
been  left  behind. 

Of  course,  bird  photographs  have  to  be  taken 
under  widely  different  conditions.  Some  birds  are 
far  less  shy  of  man,  and  incidentally  of  the  camera, 
than  others. 

It  always  seems  surprising  that  a  bird  of  such  a 
nervous  disposition  as  the  wood  thrush  undoubtedly 
is,  should  be  comparatively  easy  to  photograph. 


12     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

Thus  far  I  have  seldom  found  any  that,  while 
on  the  nest,  would  not,  after  a  few  attempts, 
allow  the  camera  to  be  brought  fairly  near.  For 
this  reason,  combined  with  the  fact  that  they  may 
be  found  so  abundantly  in  the  vicinity  of  dwellings, 
and  that  their  nests  are  usually  placed  at  a  con- 
venient height,  they  are  most  useful  to  the  bird 
photographer.  The  birds  themselves  are  so  hand- 
some and  their  markings  so  conspicuous  that  they 
show  to  the  greatest  advantage  in  a  photograph, 
while  such  birds  as  the  Baltimore  oriole,  the 
cardinal  and  others  of  equally  brilliant  plumage 
are  very  disappointing,  as  they  lose  greatly 
when  shown  in  black  and  white.  Take  away 
their  gorgeous  colouring  and  we  scarcely  re- 
cognise them,  while  the  wood  thrush  is  unmis- 
takable, whether  depicted  in  black  and  white  or 
in  colour. 

As  an  example  of  how  a  bird  tries  to  conceal 
itself  by  means  of  its  protective  colouring,  I  will 
mention  the  case  of  a  wood -thrush  which  I  recently 
photographed.  From  the  moment  when  she  saw 
me  coming  towards  her,  armed  with  the  camera, 
she  never  changed  her  position,  but  stood  im- 
movable, as  though  she  were  part  of  the  natural 
growth,  evidently  believing  herself  to  be  unseen. 
At  a  distance  of  about  seven  feet  I  placed  the 
camera,  and  throughout  all  the  movements  inci- 
dental to  the  focussing  and  arranging  of  things, 
she  never  moved,  and  I  was  therefore  able  to 
give  the  fairly  long  exposure  that  was  made 
necessary  by  the  strong  light  and  shade.  During 
the  many  times  I  visited  her,  only  this  once 


BIRD   PHOTOGRAPHY  13 

did  she  assume  this  peculiar  position  of  imaginary 
concealment. 

Another  photograph  was  made  in  order  to 
satisfy  the  doubtings  of  a  disbelieving  Thomas. 
The  idea  of  attaching  the  camera  to  the  higher 
branch  of  a  tree  and  making  the  exposure  with  the 
aid  of  forty  feet  of  rubber  tubing  was  a  story  too 
far-fetched  for  my  friend.  To  convince  him  that 
it  could  be  done  I  selected  a  nest  situated  in  a 
crotch  of  the  upper  branch  of  a  maple  and  secured 
the  camera  to  an  adjoining  branch  about  five  feet 
from  the  nest. 

The  conditions  were  entirely  unfavourable  for 
photography,  as  the  mass  of  leaves  cut  off  the  light 
except  in  front  of  the  camera.  However,  a  photo- 
graph had  to  be  made,  and  so,  after  arranging  things 
as  best  I  might,  I  set  the  shutter  for  a  three  seconds' 
exposure.  Then,  descending  the  tree,  I  waited  for 
the  return  of  the  mother  thrush.  She  had  through- 
out been  watching  the  operations,  with  feelings 
closely  akin  to  disgust,  and  when  I  removed  my  un- 
welcome presence  to  a  little  distance,  she  returned 
to  the  tree  and  abused  the  harmless  camera  as 
though  it  had  been  some  frightful  monster. 

Finding  it  did  not  retaliate  in  any  way  and  that 
it  remained  absolutely  quiet,  the  excited  bird  soon 
quieted  down  and  turned  her  attention  to  the 
hungry  brood  who  called  loudly  for  food.  Such 
calls  are  imperative,  and  Mrs.  Thrush  went  off  in 
search  of  some  desirable  morsel.  This  she  found 
after  a  very  short  time  and  with  it  she  returned  to 
the  nest.  Now  was  my  opportunity  and  I  pressed 
the  bulb.  Then,  changing  plates,  I  returned  to  the 


14     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

dark  room  to  develop  what  I  hoped  would  turn  out 
to  be  a  good  negative,  but  such  was  not  to  be  ; 
during  the  long  exposure  the  bird  had  moved  and 
so  the  plate  was  spoiled.  Once  more  I  returned  to 
the  tree,  and  after  a  short  wait  succeeded  in  making 
another  exposure,  this  time  with  better  results  as 
shown  in  the  accompanying  illustration.  Incident- 
ally I  may  remark  that  my  friend  was  convinced. 

We  will  now  turn  our  attention  to  photographing 
young  birds  being  fed  by  their  parents.  This  is,  of 
course,  no  easy  task,  especially  when  the  bird  one 
wishes  to  portray  is  one  like  the  Indigo  bird,  for 
the  Indigo  is  not  at  all  of  a  trusting  nature.  Man 
to  them  is  an  enemy  to  be  avoided  at  all  hazards. 
The  gift  of  song  together  with  the  beautiful  plumage 
of  these  small  birds  has  been  to  them  a  living  curse. 
Man,  instead  of  being  content  to  enjoy  the  presence 
of  such  ornaments  amid  their  natural  surroundings, 
must  needs  keep  up  a  continual  warfare  against 
the  harmless  creatures,  by  catching  them  in  traps, 
quite  regardless  of  the  law,  and  using  them  as  an 
article  of  commerce.  Years  of  such  persecution 
have  made  them  suspicious.  Only  in  very  excep- 
tional instances  do  we  find  one  that  is  at  all  tame. 
Many  times  have  I  tried,  and  in  vain,  to  secure  a 
photograph  of  the  sitting  bird  on  her  nest,  while 
the  idea  of  her  feeding  her  young  with  the  camera  in 
close  proximity  seemed  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  wild  dream.  One  day,  however,  by  good  fortune 
I  met  with  a  family  of  Indigo  birds  that  would 
pose  for  me.  The  young,  usually  extremely  wild, 
were  perfectly  well  behaved  and  remained  where- 
ever  I  chose  to  place  them,  but  of  the  parents 


Wood  Thrush  on  Nest. 


•  •  •**•••   :?..:„•••.•..• 


BIRD   PHOTOGRAPHY  15 

only  the  dull-coloured  mother  bird  would  venture 
within  shot  of  the  camera,  while  the  father,  puffed 
up  with  vanity,  for  he  is  most  wonderfully  clothed 
in  various  shades  of  intense  blue,  would  sit  on  the 
topmost  branches  of  the  trees  near  by  and  spend  his 
time  in  song.  All  endeavours  to  induce  him  to 
come  near  the  camera  were  futile.  His  dusky  mate 
proved  somewhat  more  tractable,  and  as  long  as  I 
kept  at  a  respectful  distance  from  thd  camera,  she 
did  not  seriously  object  to  feeding  her  young  ones. 
But  the  overwhelming  combination  of  man  and 
camera  was  more  than  she  could  stand,  so  while  I 
succeeded  in  securing  a  number  of  photographs,  in 
nearly  every  case  I  had  to  conceal  myself  in  the 
underbrush  and  make  the  exposure  through  the  long 
tube  already  mentioned.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
second  day  she  became  rather  less  shy,  but  still  she 
showed  little  of  the  confidence  displayed  by  some 
other  of  my  bird  friends. 

Spending  so  much  time  with  birds  affords  one 
splendid  opportunities  for  studying  their  habits,  and 
with  this  interesting,  if  exclusive,  family,  the  feature 
of  their  domestic  arrangements  that  struck  me  most 
forcibly  was,  that  not  once  did  his  lordship  deign  to 
carry  food  to  any  of  his  hungry  offspring  ;  entirely 
to  the  industrious  little  mother  were  the  youngsters 
beholden  for  their  meals,  and  the  number  of  grass- 
hoppers, spiders,  and  caterpillars  that  she  had  to 
catch  was  quite  remarkable.  The  only  duties 
incumbent  on  her  gaily  bedecked  lord,  that  I 
could  discover,  were  firstly,  that  he  must  warn 
her  of  impending  danger  by  uttering  a  sharp  note 
of  alarm ;  secondly,  he  must  try,  if  the  intruder 


16     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

happens  to  be  of  the  human  kind,  to  lead  him  as  far 
as  possible  from  the  nest,  which  is  carefully  hidden 
in  the  tangle  of  undergrowth  ;  thirdly,  he  must 
furnish  amusement  for  the  family  by  constant  song. 
Surely  his  is  the  easier  task. 


PART   II 
ANIMAL  PHOTOGRAPHY 

IT  was  quite  natural  that,  after  having  devoted 
many  years  to  bird  hunting  with  the  camera,  I 
should  become  more  ambitious  and  try  my  luck 
with  larger  and,  shall  I  say,  more  interesting  game  ? 
No  ;  that  would  indeed  be  disloyal  to  the  birds  that 
first  tempted  me  into  what  was  then  a  virgin  field. 
Each  phase  of  the  sport  has  its  own  particular  virtues 
and  attractions,  its  obstacles  to  overcome  and  some- 
times its  triumphs.  Perhaps  the  chief  difference 
between  bird  and  animal  work  is  that  with  birds, 
especially  the  smaller  kinds,  the  great  charm  is  in 
trying  to  overcome  their  natural  fear  of  man  in  order 
to  gain  if  possible  their  comparative  if  not  complete 
confidence.  No  one  who  has  not  attempted  this  has 
any  idea  how  much  pleasure  and  satisfaction  may  be 
derived  from  the  friendship  of  even  the  smallest  and 
most  common  of  wild  birds.  On  the  other  hand, 
with  animals  there  is  seldom  any  question  of  friend- 
ship, except  in  rare  instances  and  then  usually  only 
with  the  smaller  species.  The  sportsman  must 
be  content  with  his  joy  in  outwitting  the  keenly 
developed  senses  of  the  ever  hunted,  such  as  the 
deer,  or  of  those  equally  alert,  the  hunters,  the  car- 


ANIMAL   PHOTOGRAPHY  17 

nivorous,  great  and  small.      You  must  match  your 
intelligence,  handicapped  as  it  is  by  the  somewhat 
dulled  senses  of  seeing  and  hearing  and  the  almost 
dead  sense  of  smell,  against  those  which  have  these 
three  senses   most  keenly  developed,  and   whose 
acute  powers  of  reasoning  should  never  be  despised 
by  the  hunter.      It  is,  as  I  have  stated,  difficult  to 
say  which  pursuit  affords  the  greater  pleasure  or 
keener  excitement.     Each  is  splendid  and  each  will 
teach  its  many  lessons  to  those  who  will  but  use 
their  eyes  intelligently  and  not  jump  to  conclusions 
too  hastily.    Unfortunately  this  fault  of  hastiness  is 
only  too  common,  especially  in  two  kinds  of  people, 
those  who  are  too  lazy  to  make  their  investigations 
without  a  sufficient  degree  of  thoroughness,  and 
those   who    by   nature   are    impulsive   and   over- 
enthusiastic.     By  such  people,  if  they  have   but 
the   suggestion   of  a  theory  on  which   to  work, 
all    incidents    and    conditions    will    be   made    to 
fit    this    pre-established    theory ;    their   eyes    are 
blinded  to  all   else.      Mole-hills  are  turned  into 
mountains  and  conclusions  will  be  reached  which 
have  not  the  slightest  foundation.     No  one  has  a 
much  better  opportunity  to  study  wild  animals 
in  their  native  state  than  he  who  hunts  with  the 
camera.    Unlike  the  man  who  shoots  and  so  destroys 
the  actual  subject  of  his  study,  the  camera-hunter  is 
frequently  forced  to  spend  many,  many  hours  of 
enforced  inactivity  whilst  in  the  presence  of  the 
animals,  waiting,  perhaps,  for  them  to  come  within 
range,  to  reach  a  place  where  stalking  would  be 
possible,  or  where  the  light  will  be  good — waiting 
in  fact  for  any  of  a  dozen  possible  things  to  occur. 
W.L.C.  c 


18     WILD  LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

It  is  during  such  times  that  the  lessons  are  learnt, 
that  the  unexpected  events  take  place.  The 
actual  photographing  takes  very  little  time,  but 
the  watching  is  never  ended  for  those  who  really 
wish  to  observe  and  learn. 

"  What  sort  of  camera  should  I  use  ? "  How 
often  have  I  been  asked  this  question,  and  yet  it  is 
always  equally  difficult  to  give  an  adequate  and 
comprehensive  reply.  (1)  What  sort  of  man  or 
woman  are  you  ?  (2)  Where  are  you  going  to 
hunt?  (3)  What  are  the  conditions?  (4)  And 
finally,  what  can  you  afford  for  the  outfit  ?  These 
are  perhaps  the  principal  questions,  and  the  answers 
are  determined  by  further  questioning.  (1)  Are 
you  lazy  or  painstaking  ?  If  lazy  and  still  insist  on 
hunting  with  the  camera  (though  in  this  case  it 
would  be  quite  against  my  advice  that  you  should 
engage  in  a  task,  or  sport,  that  depends  so  much  on 
energy  and  perseverance)  I  advise  an  ordinary  hand, 
folding  camera,  using  films.  The  pictures  you  will 
obtain  won't  be  worth  much  but  they  will  be  all 
you  deserve.  Are  you  painstaking  ?  Then  we  shall 
have  to  answer  the  other  questions  first.  (2)  If 
you  would  hunt  in  the  north,  a  telephoto  lens  of 
moderately  high  power  need  not  be  considered. 
If  in  a  thickly-wooded  country  it  is  also  of  little 
or  no  use.  Perhaps  you  are  surprised  that  I 
should  deal  with  the  lens  before  speaking  of  the 
camera,  but  that  is  reasonable,  for  the  camera  must 
be  of  type  suited  to  the  lens  or  lenses  you  expect 
to  use.  (3)  Is  weight  an  important  item  ?  If  it  is, 
plates  will  have  to  be  eliminated  or  practically  so. 
Are  you  going  to  work  from  a  horse  or  from  a 


ANIMAL   PHOTOGRAPHY  19 

canoe,  from  a  blind  or  by  stalking?  On  the 
consideration  of  all  these  points  depends  the 
selection  of  a  proper  outfit.  Generally  speaking, 
the  reflex  type  of  camera  is  almost  a  necessity 
when  good  results  are  desired.  Its  size  must 
depend  on  what  you  can  use  under  the  existing 
conditions.  A  four  by  five,  or  even  a  quarter  plate 
size  when  light  weight  is  called  for.  The  five  by 
seven,  or  the  half  plate,  if  it  can  be  managed.  These 
larger  sizes  are  far  more  satisfactory,  but  are,  of 
course,  more  expensive,  more  bulky  and  much 
heavier,  and  stalking  with  them  is  made  very  much 
more  difficult.  The  very  rapid  lenses,  that  is,  those 
working  with  an  aperture  of  F.  4.5,  or  thereabouts, 
have  so  little  depth  of  focus  that  it  nearly  always 
means  cutting  them  down  to  about  F.  6  in  order 
to  obtain  even  fair  depth.  So  the  extra  weight  is 
being  carried  to  very  little  purpose,  such  as  a  quite 
occasional  exposure  under  poor  light  conditions. 
F.  6  is  quite  large  enough  for  most  practical  pur- 
poses. The  new  types  of  low  and  usually  single- 
powered  telephoto  lenses  promise  great  things. 
They  are  being  changed  so  frequently  that  before  this 
appears  in  print  some  new  device  may  be  invented 
which  will  completely  revolutionise  everything. 
The  chief  (and  almost  only)  advantage  possessed 
by  these  types  is  that  with  a  camera  having  only 
a  short  draw  (of  bellows)  you  can  use  a  lens  which 
has  approximately  an  equivalent  focus  of  twice  the 
length  of  bellows.  Against  this,  if  they  work  at 
an  aperture  of  F.  5  or  6,  there  is  the  disadvan- 
tage of  size,  both  in  diameter  and  length,  which 
makes  them  somewhat  cumbersome.  If  you  can 


20    WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

use  a  convertible  lens  of  2  foci,  it  is  advisable,  for 
though    the   single   combination  is   slow  it  often 
enables    you    to    obtain   satisfactory  pictures    of 
animals   entirely   out  of  range   for  the  ordinary 
short  focus  lens.     But  don't  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  the  single  combination  means  double  the  draw 
of  bellows  required  for  the  complete  lens.     It  is 
well  to  employ  a  lens,  especially  if  it  be  a  cheap 
one,  made  to  cover  a  plate  one  size  larger  than  you 
are  using,  so  that  there  is  no  question  of  the  entire 
plate  being  clean  cut.     The  ordinary  lenses  supplied 
with  cameras  are  usually  too  slow  for  animal  work, 
their  aperture  being  as  a  rule  about  F.  8.     How- 
ever, they  will  do   quite  well   under  favourable 
conditions,  but  don't  forget  that   favourable  con- 
ditions are  the  exception  rather  than  the  rule,  ex- 
cept in  such  countries  as  Africa,  or  in  the  middle 
western   states   of  North  America.     It  is   nearly 
always  poor  economy  to  buy  cheap  outfits.     They 
too  frequently  lead  to  disappointment,  and  when 
you  consider  how  much  a  trip  costs,  is  it  worth 
while  for  the  sake  of  saving  a  very  small  amount 
to  sacrifice  the   entire   results,  when  by  having  a 
good  reliable  outfit  you  may  secure  pictures  which 
will  pay  a  part,  if  not  all,  of  the  expenses  of  your 
outing?    Should  you  wish  to  go  in  for  telephoto 
work  remember  that  the  positive  lens  should  be  of 
very  great  rapidity,  not  less  than  F.  4.5,  otherwise 
the  possibility  of  instantaneous  exposure  would  be 
limited  to  one  or  two  magnifications.     Never  buy 
the  two  elements  separately,  but  let  the  manufac- 
turer supply  you  with  the  complete  lenses,  positive 
and   negative   elements   properly  adjusted.     It  is 


ANIMAL  PHOTOGRAPHY  21 

essential  that  the  camera  for  telephoto  work  should 
be  very  rigid,  as  the  slightest  vibration  is  greatly 
magnified. 

Before  touching  on  the  practical  use  of  the  camera 
there  are  several  details  to  be  dealt  with — small 
ones,  but  nevertheless  important.     Let  the  camera 
be  in  every  way  as  simple  as  possible,  free  from 
complicated  adjustments  and   all  its  parts  easily 
accessible  in  case  of  anything  getting  out  of  order. 
Let  there  be  as  little  outside  machinery  as  possible. 
Every  projection  offers  a   chance   for  trouble ;   a 
slight  blow,  and  perhaps  the  whole  outfit  may  be 
rendered  useless.    All  parts  should  work  easily  and 
with  as  little  noise  as  possible.     One  of  the  great 
objections  to  the  focal  plane  shutter  is  the  noise  it 
makes.    The  ideal  camera  could  be  reflex  with  both 
focal  plane  and  lens  shutter,  the  former  for  very  rapid 
work  such  as  birds  in  flight,  and  the  latter  for  slower 
exposures  where  silence  is  all  important.     There  is 
at  present  a  reflex  with  a  lens  shutter,  but  it  unfor- 
tunately does  not  allow  much  variation  of  lenses,  so 
that  its  usefulness  is  greatly  curtailed.     The  reflex 
camera  should  be  so  arranged  that  the  focussing  hood 
admits  of  use  from  above  and  from  the  back.     The 
advantage  of  this  is  that  it  allows  the  camera  to  be 
held  level  with  the  eyes  so  that  the  immediate  fore- 
ground is  not  shown  in  the  picture.    When  you  are 
in  a  canoe  you  can  operate  this  camera  with  greater 
freedom  and  safety  as  it  will  not  be  necessary  to 
stand  up  or  even  to  kneel  in  order  to  clear  the  adja- 
cent water  or  the  canoe  bow  which  so  often  obtrudes 
itself  in  such  pictures.    Good  plate  holders  are  of  the 
utmost  importance  ;  not  only  must  they  be  abso- 


22    WILD  LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

lutely  safe,  and  allow  the  plates  to  be  easily  put  in 
and  securely  held  in  place,  but  they  should  be  fitted 
with  a  device  which  precludes  all  possibility  of 
double  exposures,  that  bete  noir,  so  common  when 
one  works  under  conditions  of  keen  excitement 
and  haste.  In  saying  that  plate  holders  should  be 
loaded  without  difficulty,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  when  in  camp  you  have  no  dark  room,  but 
usually  a  simple  dark  changing  bag,  which  means 
manipulation  by  sense  of  touch  alone,  so  it  will  be 
seen  that  any  complications  add  greatly  to  one's 
troubles.  Many  prefer  to  use  films  instead  of  plates. 
There  is  no  question  at  all  of  the  advantage  the 
former  possess  in  point  of  weight  and  simplicity, 
but  the  results  are  not  as  satisfactory  as  when  plates 
are  used,  especially  so  with  the  larger  sizes.  A  five 
by  seven  or  half  plate  film  is  very  apt  not  to  lie 
flat ;  in  dry  climates  this  is  not  so  noticeable,  but 
in  damp,  muggy  weather  they  are  more  than  likely 
to  wrinkle,  which  means  that  with  a  very  rapid 
lens  (i.e.,  one  that  has  little  depth  of  focus)  parts  of 
the  picture  will  be  sharp  while  other  parts  on  the 
same  plane  will  be  entirely  out  of  focus.  Then 
again,  films  are  more  inclined  to  have  scratches. 
They  do  not  keep  so  well,  and,  finally,  they  are  not 
so  easy  of  manipulation.  Let  me  suggest  that  a 
soft,  portable  case  be  carried  for  the  camera,  made 
of  some  good  strong  but  light  waterproof  material, 
so  that  in  case  of  showers  the  camera  will  not 
suffer.  The  strong,  stiff  travelling  case  may  be 
made  of  compressed  paper,  kept  thoroughly 
varnished.  It  is  better  than  leather,  being  lighter, 
stronger  and  more  rigid,  besides  which  it  will  not 


ANIMAL   PHOTOGRAPHY  23 

become  water-soaked.  Cases  for  plate  holders 
should  be  made  of  the  same  material  but  covered 
with  waterproofed  leather  so  as  to  be  less  noisy.  A 
small  case  of  soft  leather  to  hold  three  plate 
holders  will  be  found  very  useful  for  carrying  a 
temporary  supply  while  you  are  actually  stalking. 

The  foregoing  is  but  a  brief  outline  of  the  most 
important  parts  of  the  outfit  necessary  for  animal 
photography.  Each  person  who  attempts  the 
sport  will,  as  he  advances,  develop  his  own  ideas 
on  what  will  best  suit  his  methods.  What  has  been 
said  here  is  simply  a  general  guide  for  those  who 
are  unfamiliar  with  the  subject,  so  that  they  may 
have  a  basis  on  which  to  work  when  the  outfit  is  to 
be  bought.  It  is  seldom  that  the  dealer  is  able  to 
offer  much  help  in  the  way  of  advice  regarding  any 
special  class  of  work.  It  is,  indeed,  scarcely  to  be 
expected  of  him,  when  we  consider  how  difficult  it 
is  for  the  man  who  has  spent  years  at  the  work  to 
give  advice  that  will  be  of  much  real  value.  Expe- 
rience is  the  only  trustworthy  teacher,  and  she  is 
so  slow  and  usually  so  expensive  that  she  is  likely 
to  discourage  those  whose  heart  is  not  thoroughly 
in  the  work  they  wish  to  do. 

I  make  no  mention  of  flashlight  work  because 
no  device  that  I  have  yet  seen  or  made  is  worthy 
of  being  recommended. 


THE   CARIBOU  MIGRATION 
IN  NEWFOUNDLAND 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    CARIBOU   MIGRATION   IN   NEWFOUNDLAND 

\_The  result  of  six  seasons'  work,  when  patience 
was  at  last  rewarded  and  the  big  herds  came 
before  the  stags  had  shed  their  antlers.'] 

OCTOBER  24TH,  1911.  Once  more  I  find  myself 
in  Newfoundla  nd  watching  from  my  blind  for  the 
elusive  Caribou,  and,  judging  from  indications,  1 
shall  not  have  long  to  wait.  The  day  before 
yesterday  while  paddling  up  the  river  I  saw  several 
small  lots  of  Caribou,  and  this  morning  while 
cooking  my  solitary  breakfast,  a  herd  of  fifteen 
swam  across  the  river  and  landed  on  the  bank 
directly  opposite  my  camp  ;  so  it  looks  as  though 
the  migration  for  which  I  have  long  waited  had 
really  begun,  and  that  I  would  at  last  have  some 
luck.  Yesterday  I  repaired  the  blinds  which  1  have 
used  each  year,  and  built  a  couple  of  new  ones  on 
very  promising  leads,  so  I  feel  that  I  am  ready 
for  my  friends  when  they  come.  Armed  with 
camera,  plates,  and  warm  clothing  I  left  camp  soon 
after  the  sun  had  risen.  After  showing  itself  for  a 
few  minutes  it  retired  behind  the  deep  grey  clouds. 
I  circled  around  the  river  to  my  blind  so  as  to  leave 
no  scent  along  the  Caribou  leads,  for  unless  pressed 
by  bad  weather,  these  animals  will  not  cross  a  fresh 
human  trail,  and  even  if  the  scent  be  almost  cold 
1  First  published  in  Country  Life. 


28    WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

their  suspicions  will  be  aroused  and  the  chance  of 
securing  pictures  greatly  reduced.  It  is  only  when 
they  are  absolutely  off  their  guard  and  unsuspicious 
that  one  has  any  chance  with  them.  To-day  the 
wind  is  favourable  but  bitterly  cold.  Unfortunately 
the  light  is  bad,  but  then  that  seems  to  be  the  rule 
at  this  time  of  the  year  in  Newfoundland,  bright 
days  being  rather  the  exception.  My  blind,  or 
gaze,  as  the  Newfoundlanders  call  it,  is  a  simple 
affair  composed  of  about  a  dozen  small  fir  trees 
stuck  securely  into  the  bog,  arranged  in  a  circle 
open  at  the  southern  end ;  on  the  north  side,  facing 
the  leads,  the  branches  are  cut  away,  leaving  an 
opening  through  which  the  camera  protrudes.  The 
selection  of  a  desirable  site  for  the  blind  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  ;  it  should  control  as  many 
leads  as  possible,  the  prevailing  direction  of  the 
wind  must  be  considered,  the  sun  must  be  from  the 
back,  the  background  should  compose  well,  and 
there  should  be  no  obstructions  in  the  foreground. 
Inside  the  blind  everything  should  be  arranged  so 
that  no  dry  twigs  will  rub  against  one's  clothing, 
for  the  slightest  noise  may  cause  the  loss  of  a 
picture.  A  number  of  well-worn  leads  or  paths 
pass  on  each  side  of  the  blind  I  have  made,  some 
only  a  few  feet  away,  others  two  or  three  hundred 
feet.  All  the  conditions  are  such  that  if  the  Caribou 
come  I  shall  be  almost  certain  to  get  pictures. 

The  day  wears  on,  but  not  a  Caribou  appears.  I 
have  been  doing  some  sketching,  but  the  cold  wind 
makes  the  work  very  trying.  The  afternoon  is 
particularly  dark  and  unpleasant,  and  as  it  is  nearly 
four  o'clock  I  shall  head  for  camp  without  having 


THE    CARIBOU  MIGRATION        29 

used  a  single  plate.     On  my  way  down  the  river 
two  small  herds  crossed  far  ahead  of  me. 

Another  day.     Since  eight  o'clock  this  morning  I 
have  been  in  the  same  blind  but  without  accomplish- 
ing anything.      In  the  distance  I  have  heard  the 
splashing  of  animals  crossing  the  river ;  why  it  is  none 
come  along  these  fine  leads  it  is  difficult  to  under- 
stand.  Before  returning  to  my  camp  I  shall  examine 
the  banks  and  find  out  what  leads  are  being  used. 
The  result  of  yesterday's  search  showed  that  the 
Caribou  are  using  the  leads  below  my  camp,  quite  a 
number  having  crossed  the  river  during  the  past  few 
days,  so  this  morning  finds  me  in  a  new  blind  on  the 
south  side  of  the  river.     Unfortunately  the  wind  is 
blowing  so  hard  that  it  is  impossible   to  hear  any 
animals   entering  the   water.     Therefore   it  is  all 
the  more  necessary  to  keep  my  eyes  open.     For 
two  hours  I  have  been  waiting,  and  my  hands  and 
feet  are  becoming  numb,  so  I  must  get  up  and  start 
the  blood  circulating ;  but  wait,  there  is  a  Caribou. 
It  proves  to  be  only  a  doe  and  her  fawn,  a  beautiful 
pair  almost  entirely  clothed  in  their  winter  coat  of 
silvery  white.     They  came  along  at  a  quick  walk, 
heading  directly  toward  me,  closer  and  closer,  until 
within  forty  feet  or  so.     Owing  to  the  lack  of  light 
it  was  impossible  to  make  a  picture  of  them  walking, 
so  that  as  soon  as  everything  was  ready,  I  gave  a 
sudden  shout.     They  stopped  immediately,  and  as 
they  looked   about  with   a   surprised   expression, 
the  shutter  clicked  with  a  noise  that  revealed  my 
position,  and  off  the  pair  went  at  full  gallop.     This 
little  excitement  warmed  me  up  a  trifle,  but  the  cold 
is  getting   more  and  more  intense  and  the   sky 


30     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

becomes  still  more  heavily  obscured  with  cold  lead- 
coloured  clouds.  Bad  weather  is  coming  without 
doubt.  If  only  it  would  snow  there  would  be 
no  lack  of  Caribou.  Even  while  I  am  writing, 
occasional  snowflakes  fly  past,  stinging  my  face. 
Further  writing  is  impossible  to-day.  At  intervals 
during  the  night  flurries  of  hard  snow  blew  against 
my  tent,  yet  altogether  there  was  scarcely  enough  to 
whiten  the  ground.  The  day  broke  dull  and  grey, 
but  before  nine  o'clock  the  sun  came  out.  Now  if 
the  Caribou  would  only  come,  the  light  is  good  and 
there  is  so  little  wind  that  any  animals  crossing  the 
river  can  be  easily  heard.  A  Canada  jay  is  sitting 
upon  a  twig  above  my  head.  He  seems  to  be 
watching  the  pencil  with  wondering  eyes.  Down 
he  comes  ;  now  he  is  not  more  than  a  foot  or  so  from 
my  head.  Who's  there  ?  Well,  that  certainly  beats 
anything  I  have  ever  known  for  impertinence. 
Evidently  it  was  my  glasses  that  fascinated  the  bird, 
for  he  suddenly  darted  at  them  and  had  them  in  his 
bill  before  I  realised  his  intentions.  Throwing  up 
my  hands,  I  frightened  the  rascal,  and  he  dropped  the 
glasses  Before  I  could  replace  them  the  stillness 
of  the  morning  was  broken  by  repeated  sounds  of 
splashing  in  the  river.  Caribou  had  crossed  and 
landed  close  to  where  my  canoe  was  hidden. 
Fortunately  they  kept  clear  of  my  trail.  It  was 
only  a  small  herd,  but  they  came  within  range  and 
I  made  two  exposures.  Scarcely  had  I  reloaded 
the  camera  than  another  and  larger  herd  came  into 
view.  What  a  superb  sight  they  presented  as  they 
walked  with  quick  steps  along  the  lead  which 
would  give  me  the  best  chance  with  the  camera ! 


THE    CARIBOU   MIGRATION        31 

So  quiet  was  the  morning  that  the  curious  clicking 
of  their  feet  sounded  unusually  clearly.  Here  was 
the  chance  for  which  I  had  been  waiting  six  long 
years.  The  combination  that  I  knew  was  bound  to 
come  some  time  ;  good  light,  and  a  large  enough 
herd  of  absolutely  unsuspicious  Caribou.  It  was 
really  worth  waiting  for,  and  my  heart  beat  so  hard 
with  excitement  that  it  seemed  as  though  the 
approaching  animals  must  hear  it.  With  almost 
feverish  haste  each  part  of  the  camera  was  carefully 
examined  to  see  that  the  shutter  was  set  correctly, 
the  proper  diaphragm  in  place,  the  slide  drawn,  and 
so  forth.  All  of  this  occupied  but  a  second  or  two. 
However,  the  animals  were  almost  in  range  by  the 
time  I  had  made  sure  that  everything  was  in  readi- 
ness. If  only  a  stag  had  been  leading  !  But  that 
seldom  happens.  In  fact,  only  three  times  have  I 
seen  it !  First  came  a  doe  and  her  fawn,  then  three 
young  stags  and  another  doe  followed  by  a  fair 
stag,  but  the  largest  one  was,  of  course,  the  last  of  the 
line  ;  that  is  the  rule  and  that  is  why  it  is  so  difficult 
to  photograph  them.  On  they  came,  and  I  watched 
them  closely  as  they  grew  larger  and  larger  on  the 
ground  glass  of  the  camera,  but  at  the  moment 
when  they  almost  covered  the  entire  plate,  I 
pressed  the  shutter  release,  the  picture  was  made  and 
the  herd  had  gone  before  another  plate  could  be  put 
into  position.  Now  once  more  I  settle  down  to 
watch  and  think  with  pleasure  of  the  good  luck 
that  has  come  my  way.  It  has  been  a  satisfactory 
day's  work,  even  if  I  get  nothing  more,  but 
apparently  there  is  more  to  come,  for  at  this 
moment  I  hear  splashes.  What  is  to  be  ?  There 


32     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

comes  a  head  through  the  fringe  of  alders  which 
line  the  river  bank,  another,  and  yet  another.  This 
is  surely  my  lucky  day.  Among  that  small  herd 
was  a  stag,  a  real  stag  of  the  kind  one  reads  about, 
but  seldom  sees.  How  many  points  ?  you  ask.  Well ! 
I  don't  know.  I  didn't  have  time  to  count  them, 
but  it  looked  like  forty-five  or  fifty,  and  the  photo- 
graph shows  a  full  forty-five.  He  followed  close 
behind  the  small  band  of  does  and  came  within 
fifty  feet  of  me  before  I  made  the  exposure. 
Startled  by  the  sound  of  the  shutter,  the  big 
fellow  jumped  directly  towards  me,  stopping  about 
twenty-five  feet  away.  Excited  to  a  painful 
degree,  I  tried  to  put  in  another  plate  and  reset 
the  shutter  so  that  I  might  make  a  picture  of  the 
stag  alone.  But  just  as  I  was  drawing  the  slide,  he 
galloped  off.  I  had  secured  one  picture  of  the 
magnificent  specimen,  so  I  had  no  right  to  com- 
plain. Yet  I  did  regret  not  having  succeeded  in 
getting  the  picture  of  him  alone,  when  he  would 
have  shown  to  much  better  advantage. 

It  is  afternoon  and  the  sky  is  dull.  So  far  nothing 
has  happened  since  the  big  stag  came.  Several 
Caribou  are  feeding  on  the  marsh  a  few  hundred 
yards  away.  One  small  herd  is  working  in  this 
direction.  They  are  feeding  slowly  along.  Now 
they  are  not  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
away.  They  have  stopped  feeding,  and  one  after 
the  other  they  are  lying  down.  The  stag,  a  fine  big 
one,  stands  sentry  for  some  time,  but  he  too  wants 
to  rest,  so  he  too  lies  down.  For  over  an  hour  they 
sleep  quietly.  One  old  doe  looks  up  occasionally, 
but  they  are  unaware  of  the  fact  that  their  arch- 


THE   CARIBOU    MIGRATION        33 

enemy,  man,  is  so  near.  Suddenly,  however,  three 
does  came  along  so  quietly  that  I  neither  saw  nor 
heard  them  until  they  were  within  about  twenty 
feet,  and  without  having  seen  them,  I  moved.  Of 
course  they  bolted,  giving,  as  they  went,  the  alarm- 
call  which  aroused  the  sleeping  herd  and  caused 
them  to  take  to  their  heels. 

This  is  a  morning  of  mornings.  The  whole 
country  is  a  fairy  land,  glistening  and  sparkling 
with  a  wonderful  covering  of  iridescent  hoar-frost. 
The  dark,  oily  water  of  the  river  seems  doubly  dark 
as  it  glides  along  the  white  avenue.  The  edges  are 
coated  with  frost-covered  ice,  and  small  clusters  of 
frozen  froth  float  slowly  and  silently  down  the  river. 
The  overpowering  silence  is  broken  now  and  then 
by  the  harsh  croak  of  a  raven  or  the  whistling  of  a 
passing  duck.  It  is  on  a  morning  like  this  that  one 
appreciates  to  the  fullest  the  joy  of  being  entirely 
alone,  and  yet  people  so  often  ask  me  if  I  am  not 
lonely  on  these  solitary  trips.  On  such  a  day  as 
this,  loneliness  is  impossible.  The  barrens  surround- 
ing my  blinds  are  particularly  and  wonderfully 
beautiful  this  morning.  In  one  part  the  yellow 
grass  gives  a  curious  golden  hue  to  the  frosty 
covering.  In  another  the  colour  is  pinkish-purple, 
as  richly  coloured  leaves  shine  through  the  frost. 
Look  which  way  you  will  the  effect  is  different,  yet 
equally  beautiful.  But  it  is  too  good  to  last.  A 
cold  wind  is  getting  up,  dark  clouds  are  gathering 
on  the  horizon,  bad  weather  is  threatening.  It  is 
about  noon,  and  even  now  large  drops  of  rain  are 
spattering  the  paper,  so  I  must  stop  writing. 
Yesterday  brought  no  luck.  The  weather  became 

W.L.C.  B 


84     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

unbearable,  and  at  3  o'clock  I  gave  up  and  returned 
to  camp.  By  5  o'clock  it  was  snowing  hard,  and 
all  night  the  soft  flakes  pattered  gently  on  the 
tent,  each  one  adding  to  my  hopes.  When  I  got 
up  this  morning  at  5.30  the  moon  was  setting  in  a 
clear  sky.  The  country  looked  as  beautiful  as 
it  always  must  when  the  evergreens  are  snow- 
covered.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred  the  trees, 
and  everything  was  so  exquisitely  quiet  that  it 
seemed  an  act  of  sacrilege  to  break  the  stillness 
with  the  sound  of  the  axe.  This  snow  was  bound 
to  bring  the  Caribou,  and  I  hurried  through 
breakfast,  scarcely  waiting  even  to  share  my 
porridge  with  my  favourite  Canada  jay.  With 
disgust  I  saw  the  sky  becoming  overcast,  and  before 
I  left  the  camp  a  film  of  grey  had  hidden  the  blue. 
Now  I  am  once  more  in  the  whitened  blind,  wish- 
ing the  sun  would  come  out  to  make  the  snow  sparkle 
and  help  me  with  my  photographic  work.  There  ! 
I  hear  a  splash  in  the  river  not  four  hundred  yards 
away.  Another  and  another,  in  quick  succession. 
It  is  Caribou,  and  they  are  evidently  going  to  land 
at  the  leads  which  I  am  watching.  Everything  is 
ready  but  the  light,  which  is  pitifully  bad.  They 
are  coming.  What  a  herd  that  was  !  Fully  seventy- 
five,  with  many  good  stags,  but  they  came  so  fast,  as 
though  impelled  with  the  fear  of  bad  weather,  that 
a  quick  exposure  was  impossible.  Nothing  could 
stop  the  maddened  herd  and  they  rushed  past  me 
within  a  few  feet,  the  band  separating  as  they 
reached  the  blind,  going  so  close  that  I  could  put 
out  my  hand  and  touch  them  as  they  pass.  Excit- 
ing !  It  certainly  was.  It  was  exhilarating,  and 


§ 


° 


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O  (D 

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*»*  « 
*•• 


THE   CARIBOU    MIGRATION        35 

even  though  I  got  only  one  very  poor  picture,  the 
experience  was  one  long  to  be  remembered.  What 
would  I  not  have  given  for  a  gleam  of  sunshine. 
Then  I  could  have  shown  people  what  a  herd 
of  frenzied  Caribou  look  like.  Wait !  There  is 
another  splash.  It  was  only  a  single  stag,  a  rather 
small  one  with  poor  antlers,  but  he  came  very  close, 
and  as  he  was  travelling  slowly,  I  managed  to 
secure  a  fair  picture.  The  wind  is  rising  and  blow- 
ing away  the  snow  from  the  more  exposed  situations. 
This  is  bad,  as  it  makes  it  still  more  difficult  to  use 
the  camera  for  quick  work.  Once  more  I  hear  a 
terrific  splashing  in  the  river,  but  it  sounds  a  little 
below  my  leads.  Minutes  are  going  by.  Still  I 
see  no  sign  of  the  animals.  They  have  evidently 
gone  along  another  lead  further  to  the  westward. 
Yes,  I  can  see  them  crossing  the  big  marsh.  A 
superb  herd  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  or  more. 
What  a  pity  they  are  too  far  away  to  photograph  ! 
It  is  such  a  beautiful  sight,  that  long,  quickly 
moving  line  of  white  and  grey,  its  colour  being 
in  perfect  harmony  with  the  snow-mottled  marsh 
where  the  colours  range  from  the  deepest  crimsons 
and  yellows  to  cold  blue  and  lemon  greys  of  the 
Caribou  moss.  There  again  is  the  promising  sound 
of  splashing  in  the  water,  repeated  at  short  intervals 
as  animal  after  animal  takes  to  the  river.  The  wind 
makes  so  much  noise  that  it  is  impossible  to  get  any 
idea  of  the  number  in  the  herd,  but  I  shall  probably 
see  them,  as  they  appear  to  be  coming  this  way. 
Yes,  there  they  are.  The  herd  was  a  big  one,  but  it 
divided  and  only  thirty  or  forty  passed  me,  and  not 
a  stag  in  the  lot.  For  some  unknown  reason  the 

D  2 


36     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

big  part  of  that  herd  with  several  fine  stags  turned 
off  from  the  main  lead  soon  after  leaving  the  river 
bank,  so  the  picture  of  the  does  was  all  I  could  get. 
It  is  surely  hard  luck  to  see  so  many  Caribou  and 
not  be  able  to  make  satisfactory  pictures.  But, 
after  all,  that  is  the  peculiarity  of  animal  photo- 
graphy. There  is  always  some  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  making  good  pictures.  It  is  these  difficulties 
and  disappointments  which  make  the  sport  so 
fascinating.  How  much  more  difficult  it  is  than 
shooting !  Here  this  morning  I  could  have  shot 
several  fine  stags,  but  not  a  single  good  picture  of 
one  could  I  secure.  Several  hours  have  gone  by 
and  many  Caribou  have  passed,  large  and  small 
herds.  But  most  have  gone  so  quickly  that  with 
the  poor  light  I  could  not  photograph  them.  A 
few  came  more  quietly,  and  with  these  I  had  fair 
luck.  Now  it  is  too  dark  to  do  anything  more. 
In  point  of  numbers  this  has  been  the  best  day  I 
have  ever  known,  over  five  hundred  having  passed 
within  sight,  but  the  results  pictorially  have  been 
very  unsatisfactory.  Before  leaving  camp  this 
morning  three  herds  of  Caribou  crossed  the  river,  one 
lot  crossing  by  my  camp,  but  though  the  light  was 
weak,  I  managed  to  make  a  long  enough  exposure 
to  secure  a  rather  satisfactory  picture.  No  sooner 
had  I  reached  my  blind  than  a  large  herd  came  by, 
going  too  fast  to  be  photographed.  Later  on  several 
herds  crossed  further  below,  but  they  did  not  come 
within  range  of  the  camera.  The  day  is  very  dull 
so  I  have  small  hopes  of  doing  much,  especially 
as  most  of  the  herds  are  working  further  to  the 
westward.  One  small  company  led  by  a  fairly  good 


THE    CARIBOU    MIGRATION        37 

stag  came  within  reach,  but  the  weak  light  made  it 
impossible  to  make  a  satisfactory  picture.  Towards 
noon  the  day  warmed  up,  and  the  Caribou,  after 
crossing  the  river,  entered  the  big  marsh  and 
stopped  there  to  feed  and  rest.  At  one  time  I  could 
count  eight  separate  herds  all  within  three-quarters 
of  a  mile.  About  three  hundred  yards  away  there 
were  three  large  stags,  and  I  attempted  to  stalk 
them.  Unfortunately  I  had  not  seen  a  doe  that 
evidently  belonged  to  the  party,  and  just  before  I 
got  within  range,  she  warned  the  stags  and  off  they 
went.  About  three  o'clock  I  went  back  to  the 
river  to  try  my  luck  there,  and  soon  found  one  of 
the  much  used  crossings.  A  few  minutes  after  I 
had  hidden  myself  among  some  tall  grass,  a  single 
doe  swam  the  river  and  landed  immediately  in 
front  of  me ;  with  the  bright  golden  light  stream- 
ing through  the  clouds  it  was  very  beautiful,  but 
exasperating,  as  it  was  not  in  good  position  for  the 
camera.  I  made  an  exposure  and  the  animal 
passed  me  within  twenty  feet  without  even  sus- 
pecting my  presence.  A  few  minutes  later  a  doe 
and  a  fawn  landed  at  the  same  place,  and  I  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  use  another  plate. 

To-day  I  tried  working  along  the  river  in  the 
hopes  of  getting  photographs  of  the  Caribou 
entering  and  leaving  the  water.  Hiding  among 
the  tall  grass  as  I  had  done  yesterday,  I  did  not 
have  long  to  wait  before  a  large  herd  appeared  on 
the  opposite  bank.  After  hesitating  for  a  moment 
or  two,  they  broke  through  the  thin  sheet  of  ice 
and  entered  the  river,  following  closely  one  behind 
the  other  till  there  were  forty  in  the  water,  but 


38     WILD   LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

they  headed  down  stream,  far  below  where  I  was 
until  suddenly,  without  any  apparent  reason,  they 
turned  and  came  straight  toward  me.  The  sun 
was  still  so  low  that  the  fir  trees  cast  a  shadow  far 
across  the  river,  but  as  that  could  not  be  helped,  I 
had  to  make  the  best  of  it.  The  herd  landed  about 
forty  feet  from  me  and  I  made  two  exposures 
before  they  realised  what  was  happening.  Then 
what  a  scattering  there  was !  Mud  flew  in  all 
directions  and  many  rushed  past,  only  a  few 
feet  away.  After  this  I  crossed  the  river  to  the 
sun-lit  side  ;  putting  the  canoe  behind  a  partly  sub- 
merged log,  I  waited,  and  pretty  soon  a  doe  and 
fawn  came  down  the  bank  and,  entering  the  river, 
swam  across  without  seeing  me.  Soon  another 
pair  posed  for  me.  Then  a  little  later  there  was 
a  great  commotion  as  a  large  herd  came  crashing 
down  the  bank  through  the  thick  fringe  of  trees. 
Now  the  question  was  when  to  take  the  picture. 
Of  course,  I  wanted  a  big  stag  as  the  centre  of  the 
picture.  Does  and  small  stags  came  in  abundance, 
and  finally  I  thought  the  last  had  come,  and  even 
though  it  was  only  a  doe  I  pressed  the  button  as 
she  rushed  down  the  bank.  No  sooner  had  I  done 
this  than  an  immense  stag  came  immediately 
behind  her,  hesitated  a  moment  in  a  perfect 
position,  looking  directly  at  me,  but  before  I  could 
re-set  the  shut,  he  had  scrambled  up  the  bank 
and  disappeared.  For  the  rest  of  the  day  I  had  no 
further  luck.  Many  Caribou  crossed  the  river,  but 
all  went  below  or  above  where  I  happened  to  be. 
Nevertheless,  the  day  has  been  one  of  great  interest. 
It  is  seldom  that  one  has  a  chance  to  see  so  many 


THE   CARIBOU    MIGRATION        39 

wild  animals,  and  while  watching  them  the  wonder 
of  this  great  migration  was  constantly  before  my 
mind.  Every  autumn,  following  the  first  heavy 
snow  that  comes  after  October  20th,  the  northern 
Caribou  commenced  the  southerly  journey ;  con- 
verging from  their  various  summer  haunts,  they 
pass  between  Sandy  River  and  Gaff-topsails, 
scattering  again  soon  after  they  cross  the  railroad 
line  to  grass.  The  winters  are  spent  toward  the 
centre  of  the  island.  Then,  as  spring  approaches, 
the  great  herd  return  to  their  summer  homes.  In 
watching  the  southerly  migration  one  is  surprised 
at  the  great  number  of  does,  perhaps  as  many  as 
fifteen  or  twenty  to  each  stag.  In  fact  there  are 
often  large  herds  with  no  stags  at  all.  This  in- 
equality is  not  as  great  as  it  seems,  for  toward  the 
end  of  the  migration  there  are  many  great  herds 
which  contain  only  stags,  but  then  they  are  mostly 
without  antlers.  As  early  as  November  3rd  some 
of  the  stags  drop  their  horns,  very  few  carrying 
them  into  December.  At  what  age  the  Caribou 
carry  their  best  heads  is  not  known,  but  probably 
the  largest  horns  are  found  on  the  stags  ranging 
from  seven  to  ten  years  of  age.  Unlike  most  deer 
the  does  of  the  Newfoundland  Caribou  usually 
have  horns.  They  are  for  the  most  part  small  and 
without  beauty,  though  occasionally  a  very  fair 
head  is  seen ;  in  form  it  is  more  like  the  antlers 
of  the  Virginia  deer,  and  lacks  the  characteristic 
brow  paddle,  which  the  stags  almost  always  have. 
The  Caribou's  colour  varies  with  the  individual  and 
with  the  season.  In  general  they  are  white  in  the 
winter  and  a  soft  brown  or  grey  mouse  colour 


40    WILD   LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

t 

during  the  summer.  The  cause  of  the  migration 
is  presumably  the  search  for  food,  but  there  is  so 
little  data  on  the  subject  that  one  is  scarcely  justi- 
fied in  making  any  definite  statements.  We  know 
that  by  no  means  all  the  northern  Caribou  come 
south,  many  remaining  in  the  extreme  north  of 
the  peninsula  ;  while  quite  as  many  stay  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  island  during  the  summer. 
There  is  no  apparent  reason  why  those  animals 
which  spend  the  winter  in  the  middle  of  the  island 
on  the  high  plains  and  rolling  hills  should  not  stay 
there  during  the  summer.  Evidently  there  is  some 
condition  of  which  we  know  nothing,  something 
which  causes  the  vast  herds  to  endure  the  hard- 
ships of  the  long  trips  of  the  autumn  and  spring, 
when  they  often  have  to  fight  their  way  through 
the  thick  ice  of  the  frozen  rivers  and  lakes.  They 
travel  easily  and  rapidly  under  almost  all  conditions, 
gliding  over  the  soft,  quaking  bogs  as  readily  as 
over  the  hard,  rocky  hills.  Through  the  dense  fir 
forests  they  break  their  way  almost  without  noise. 
They  take  to  the  water  like  ducks,  their  heavy 
coats  of  air- containing  hair  making  them  so  buoyant 
that  they  swim  with  several  inches  of  the  entire 
length  of  their  body  showing ;  but  though  they 
swim  with  ease  and  rapidity,  they  do  not  relish  enter- 
ing the  very  cold  water.  I  have  often  watched  them 
hesitate  for  quite  a  long  time  before  plunging  in. 
The  leads  or  roads  which  they  follow  have  been  in 
use  year  after  year,  perhaps  for  hundreds  or  thou- 
sands of  years,  for  in  many  places  deep  furrows  are 
worn  in  the  rocks  by  the  hoofs  of  countless  thou- 
sands of  Caribou.  Travelling,  at  least  in  the  autumn, 


THE   CARIBOU   MIGRATION        41 

is  done  almost  entirely  by  daylight,  chiefly  before 
10  in  the  morning  and  after  3  in  the  afternoon ; 
only  during  very  bad  weather,  when  the  snow  is 
becoming  dangerously  deep,  or  when  extreme  cold 
threatens  to  freeze  and  so  close  the  rivers,  do  they 
move  much  at  night.  One  of  the  sights  which 
I  live  in  hopes  of  seeing  is  that  of  the  south-bound 
animals  crashing  through  the  frozen  rivers  in  a 
driving  snowstorm,  for  then  they  have  no  fear  of 
man  and  would  be  easy  targets  for  the  camera. 
Their  one  idea  at  such  times  is  to  reach  their 
southern  destination  where  they  can,  by  constant 
work,  procure  sufficient  nourishment  from  the 
snow-bound  country.  This  winter  they  will  soon 
be  there,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  migration  has 
already  passed,  perhaps  the  largest  migration  that 
has  occurred  for  many  years.  Fully  two  thousand 
have  passed  within  my  sight  during  the  two  weeks 
that  I  have  been  on  Sandy  River.  They  have 
treated  me  well,  and  if  the  weather  had  only  been 
brighter,  I  should  have  had  excellent  pictures  to 
show.  This  is  the  sixth  consecutive  year  that  I 
have  spent  at  least  part  of  the  southerly  migration 
season  along  Sandy  River  in  the  hopes  of  opportu- 
nity to  photograph  these  beautiful  creatures.  But 
hitherto  luck  has  always  been  against  me.  Two 
years  ago,  I  spent  six  long  weeks  watching  and 
hoping  day  by  day  that  the  migration  would  begin, 
but  something  had  gone  wrong  with  it,  and  it  was 
not  until  well  into  December  that  the  great  herds 
of  south-bound  animals  came  along,  and  by  that 
time,  of  course,  the  stags  had  shed  their  horns. 
Other  times  1  have  spent  two  to  four  weeks  watching 


42     WILD   LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

the  leads  but  without  success.  Why,  you  may  ask, 
am  I  so  anxious  to  picture  the  Caribou,  that  I 
should  devote  myself  year  after  year  to  the  effort  ? 
Surely  there  are  many  other  animals  to  portray  with 
camera,  brush  and  pen,  animals,  too,  that  are  easier 
to  find  perhaps  ?  That  is,  of  course,  true,  but  they 
are  for  the  most  part  animals  far  better  known,  of 
which  more  or  less  truthful  pictures  have  been 
made,  but  the  Caribou  of  Newfoundland  have 
scarcely  been  fairly  pictured.  Paintings  of  them 
are  usually  grotesque  caricatures  of  the  graceful 
creatures.  Look  at  almost  all  the  pictures  that 
have  been  made,  and  what  do  you  see  ?  A  lean, 
sad,  miserable  creature  with  ungainly  legs,  exagge- 
rated knee-joints  and  a  hang-dog  expression  that  in 
no  ways  resemble  the  wild  Caribou.  How  it  comes 
that  these  animals  are  not  more  faithfully  pictured 
is  probably  because  the  usual  zoo  specimens  from 
which  the  studies  are  made  are  not  in  normal  con- 
dition. They  almost  always  suffer  from  a  disease 
which  changes  their  entire  appearance ;  the  poor 
creature  survives  but  a  short  time  in  captivity, 
succumbing  before  it  reaches  maturity  to  an  illness 
which  apparently  is  unpreventable.  Thus  it  is  that 
we  see  so  few  Caribou  in  captivity.  The  change  of 
food,  probably  more  than  the  change  of  living,  is 
the  cause  of  this.  But  whatever  it  may  be,  we 
never  see  a  captive  Caribou  which  resembles  the 
animal  in  its  natural  haunts.  To  my  mind  there 
is  no  more  graceful,  beautiful  animal  than  the 
Newfoundland  Caribou,  beautiful  in  form  and 
wonderful  in  colour ;  yet  the  question  of  indivi- 
duality among  these  creatures  must  be  considered. 


M* 


i* 


Stag  Caribou,  photographed  at  a  distance  of  not  more  than  nine  yards. 


THE    CARIBOU    MIGRATION        43 

You  will  find  magnificent  stags  which  resemble  the 
majestic  elk ;  then  again  there  are  many  large  stags 
whose  ugliness  and  ungainliness  are  such  that  they 
are  almost  comical.  So  also  with  the  does  and 
fawns.  People,  as  a  rule,  fail  to  realise  this  marked 
individuality  in  wild  creatures,  both  as  to  appear- 
ance arid  character.  Yet  I  believe  it  to  be  as 
great  as,  if  not  greater  than,  with  the  human  being. 
The  pictures  which  accompany  this  article,  though 
they  do  not  do  justice  to  the  originals,  at  least  give 
some  slight  suggestion  of  their  beauty,  and  I  hope 
they  will  help  to  correct  the  common  idea  that  the 
animals  are  always  ungainly  and  unlovely.  If  so,  I 
shall  feel  even  more  fully  repaid  than  I  have  already 
been  by  the  joy  of  doing  the  work  itself.  As  to 
the  pleasure  of  doing  this  work,  I  have  no  words  at 
my  command  which  will  give  any  idea  of  it.  There 
is  in  it  a  peculiar  fascination,  almost  impossible  to 
describe.  A  fascination  and  pleasure  which  obli- 
terates all  traces  of  the  hardships,  yes,  and  even 
sufferings  with  which  the  work  is  often  attended. 
To  give  some  sort  of  a  reality  to  this  work,  I  feel  that 
the  writing  should  be  done  on  the  spot,  for  it  has 
been  said  by  the  wise  ones  that  a  man  should  be  in 
the  environment  of  which  he  is  writing.  Surely 
I  am  in  the  proper  environment,  even  though  the 
conditions  scarcely  favour  writing,  for  while  I  see 
the  pencil  moving  in  a  somewhat  erratic  manner 
over  the  paper,  my  hands  are  so  benumbed  by 
cold  that  I  can  feel  nothing.  How  different  from 
writing  in  an  attic,  where  bare  walls  stare  insolently 
and  each  step  on  the  rickety  stairs  suggests  the 
postman  coming  with  manuscripts  "  returned  with 


44     WILD   LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

thanks ! "  Different,  too,  from  a  cozy  studio  or  warm, 
snug  library  with  all  its  comforts.  Among  no  such 
limiting  surroundings  am  I  writing,  but  out  on 
the  bare  and  bleak  yet  beautiful  barrens,  where  a 
carpet  of  richly-coloured  mosses  fights  with  the 
sombre  greys  for  supremacy.  No  painted  ceiling 
presses  on  my  head,  the  great  limitless,  blue  vault 
is  above  me,  or  the  sun  is  at  any  rate  shining  with 
seductive  warmth  above  the  leaden-grey  clouds 
which  so  persistently  hide  its  beauty.  Often  the 
snowflakes,  driven  by  an  ill-tempered  and  keen- 
cutting  wind,  chase  each  other  across  the  paper  and 
play  hide-and-seek  with  the  pencil  point.  My  eyes, 
besides  being  on  my  work,  are  also  constantly  scan- 
ning the  country,  for  one  can  never  tell  at  what 
minute  a  mighty  stag  or  a  silver-hued  line  of 
Caribou  may  come  in  sight.  They  seem  to  spring 
from  nowhere,  and  almost  before  the  camera  can  be 
pointed  at  them  they  have  come  and  gone,  leaving, 
perhaps,  nothing  more  substantial  than  a  mental 
picture.  To  have  any  chance  of  success,  one  must 
be  keenly  and  constantly  alert.  Hours  and  even 
days  may  pass  without  the  sign  of  a  Caribou,  but 
it  seems  as  soon  as  one  relaxes  for  a  moment,  the 
animals  come.  For  this  year,  I  must  bid  good- 
bye to  these  Caribou  of  Newfoundland.  Perhaps 
next  season  we  may  meet  again,  when  I  may  be 
better  able  to  prove  the  beauty  of  the  reindeer  of 
the  western  world.  With  keen  regret  I  roll  up  the 
tent.  My  only  companion,  the  fluffy  jay,  sits  by  my 
side  and  we  share  our  farewell  meal.  He  knows 
I  am  going  and  murmurs  softly  as  he  watches  me 
pack  the  canoe  and  start  down  the  river.  No 


THE    CARIBOU    MIGRATION        45 

tangled  mass  of  orange-coloured  antlers  breaks  the 
graceful  line  of  the  canoe ;  my  trophies,  as  yet 
invisible  and  of  unknown  quality,  are  packed  in  a 
tiny  waterproof  case,  awaiting  the  magic  touch  of 
the  chemicals  which  will  discover  whether  or  not 
my  aim  has  been  true.  If  true,  I  shall  have 
pictures  to  show.  If  not,  the  many  memories 
of  the  trip  must  suffice,  and  they  will  live  and 
improve  as  the  years  go  by. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  PORCUPINE 
HUNT 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   STORY   OF   A   PORCUPINE   HUNT  * 

How  a  series  of  photographs  were  made  directly  from  the  wild  animal 
for  the  purpose  of  illustrating  a  story.  Probably  the  first  time  that  wild 
animals  were  ever  made  to  pose  in  this  way  before  the  camera. 

IN  the  month  of  April,  1901,  a  telegram  from 
a  New  York  publisher  came  to  me  as  1  was  about 
to  start  off  for  a  day's  bird  work :  "  Come  in 
immediately,  have  splendid  story  to  illustrate." 
The  story  proved  to  be  about  the  Canadian  porcu- 
pine— an  animal  I  had  not  yet  seen  in  its  wild  state. 
Would  I  undertake  to  make  the  pictures  entirely 
with  the  camera,  so  as  to  give  a  touch  of  realism 
more  convincing  than  if  the  work  were  done  by 
hand  ?  Somewhat  reluctantly  I  promised  not  only 
to  make  the  set,  but  undertook  to  have  it  completed 
by  June  10th.  Having  made  this  rather  rash 
promise,  the  next  step  was  to  find  out  where  to 
look  for  the  porcupines — without  having  to  go  too 
far  for  them.  Inquiries  among  my  naturalist 
friends  resulted  in  information  which  was  not  very 
hopeful.  The  opinion  was  that  the  shortness  of 
time  would  make  it  practically  impossible. 

Being  blessed  with  a  decidedly  optimistic  dis 
position,   I   hoped   for    the    best,   packed    up    an 
outfit  of  cameras  and  warm  clothes,  and  started  for 
the  Adirondacks.      Inquiries  among  the  residents 

*  Not  previously  published. 
W.L.C.  E 


50     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

of  a  very  small  village  where  the  train  dropped 
me  one  cold,  rainy  morning  led  me  to  hire  a 
"  rig "  and  drive  many  miles  over  roads  which 
were  roads  in  little  more  than  name.  For  the  long 
winter  frost,  coming  out  of  the  ground,  had  con- 
verted the  road  into  a  regular  mire  in  which  the 
wheels  sank  nearly  to  the  hubs  and  frequently 
stuck  in  a  most  alarming  way.  Twice  the  decrepit 
harness  gave  way  under  the  unusual  strain.  The 
prospects  of  ever  reaching  the  little  mountain  farm 
were  at  times  anything  but  promising,  but  by  dint 
of  much  coaxing,  picturesquely  intermixed  with  a 
fair  amount  of  "cussing  "  and  a  great  deal  of  good 
luck,  we  finally  drew  up  at  a  small  log  house  of 
neat  appearance.  Now  came  the  seemingly  impos- 
sible task  of  making  a  backwoodsman  understand 
that  I  wanted  his  help  in  connection  with  hunt- 
ing for  porcupines,  and  photographing  the  queer 
beasts  so  as  to  fit  the  story.  This  meant  bringing 
in  two  characters,  a  man  and  a  boy.  The  man 
proved  most  intelligent,  and  even  though  he 
regarded  me  for  some  time  as  a  mild  lunatic  who 
might  without  risk  be  humoured  in  his  strange 
whims  and  fancies,  he  promised  all  the  help  I 
needed.  One  of  his  sons  was  about  the  age  of  the 
boy  in  the  story,  so  it  only  remained  for  us  to  find 
the  most  important  member — the  porcupine. 

Now  the  finding  of  these  animals  is  easy  enough 
in  the  regions  where  they  abound,  but  finding  them 
and  handling  them  are  by  no  means  the  same. 
The  porky  has  been  said  to  have  more  good  points 
than  any  other  animal,  a  sad  but  very  true  joke, 
which  can  only  be  thoroughly  appreciated  by  those 


STORY   OF  A   PORCUPINE   HUNT     51 

who  have  attempted  to  control  the  creatures.  It 
unfortunately  happens  that  they  are  almost  entirely 
nocturnal  in  their  habits,  coming  out  towards  dusk 
and  returning  to  their  sleeping  quarters  about 
dawn.  As  the  photographic  work  could  not  be 
done  at  night  it  was  necessary  for  us  to  secure  our 
would-be,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  our  would-not-be 
models  during  their  nightly  wanderings  and  keep 
them  till  morning,  all  of  which  sounds  easy,  but  was 
none  the  less  the  cause  of  many  tribulations  and  dis- 
appointments ;  for,  be  it  remembered,  a  porcupine 
can  climb  almost  anything  and  if  enclosed  in  a  box 
will  eat  his  way  out  within  a  few  hours.  We 
decided  a  sack  would  be  the  thing,  so  when  on  the 
first  night  we  caught  a  fine  animal  which  was 
prowling  about  seeking  what  he  might  devour  in 
the  way  of  spade  handles  or  other  wooden  articles 
used  by  men,  we  put  him  in  a  sack,  tied  it  up,  and 
put  it  in  a  barrel.  When  morning  came  we  carried 
our  victim  to  a  place  where  the  setting  coincided 
with  that  of  the  story.  The  camera  was  carefully 
arranged,  and  the  bag  opened,  and  out  rolled  an 
animal  which  possessed  not  a  single  point,  good  or 
otherwise.  All  the  quills  had  been  transferred  to 
the  sack,  and  we  beheld  a  rough,  hairy  and  very 
sad-looking  model  utterly  unsuited  to  our  purposes. 
This  was  most  unfortunate,  because  the  picture  de- 
manded snow.  And  this  small  patch,  hidden  in  a 
sheltered  nook,  a  last  remnant  of  the  winter,  was 
the  only  snow  in  the  region.  The  day  was  warm 
and  springlike,  so  that  in  a  few  hours  this  too 
would  be  melted  and  our  chance  gone  for  the 
year.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  this  day, 

E  2 


52     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

so  after  releasing  our  moulted  friend  we  returned 
to  the  farmhouse  sadder  and  wiser  men. 

During  the  afternoon  we  made  an  enclosure 
which  would  safely  contain  our  next  victim,  and 
when  night  came  we  went  out  to  hunt.  Before 
long  the  dogs  began  a  furious  barking ;  they  had 
discovered  two  porkies  behind  the  chicken  house, 
fortunately  not  far  from  the  new  enclosure.  With 
the  aid  of  the  dogs  and  by  much  pushing  we  managed 
to  get  the  prickly  creatures  inside  and  left  them 
there  till  morning.  Soon  after  breakfast  we  started 
for  the  dwindling  snow  patch — a  curious  procession. 
One  of  the  porcupines  was  slung  from  a  pole, 
secured  by  all  four  legs  ;  in  this  way  the  man  and 
the  boy  carried  him,  while  I  followed  armed  with  a 
camera,  tripod,  and  other  paraphernalia.  All  wrent 
well  till  we  came  to  the  river,  which  had  to  be 
crossed  in  a  very  small,  frail,  low-sided  punt.  The 
river  was  a  raging  torrent  owing  to  the  recently 
melted  snow,  and  the  prospects  ofreaching  the 
opposite  bank  were  not  at  all  cheerful.  Two  of  us 
got  into  the  punt  with  the  porky,  who  was  very 
well  behaved  until  we  were  nearly  half  way  over, 
when  a  lot  of  water  rushed  over  the  side,  soaking 
the  poor  beast,  who  immediately  began  to  squirm  so 
vigorously  that  he  got  his  feet  out  of  the  slipknots, 
and,  finding  himself  free,  made  straight  for  the  end 
of  the  boat  where  the  man  was  devoting  all  his 
attention  to  paddling  and  steering.  As  a  very 
close  companion  a  porcupine  is  scarcely  to  be 
recommended,  especially  in  a  small  and  very  frail 
boat  in  very  rough  water.  The  man  had  on  heavy 
boots,  and  with  these  he  pushed  and  pushed  the 


STORY  OF   A  PORCUPINE   HUNT    53 

determined  animal.  But  the  more  he  pushed  the 
more  determined  did  the  animal  become.  Finally 
he  took  the  paddle  and  with  it  managed  to  shove 
the  creature  back ;  but  with  very  nearly  disastrous 
results,  for  the  punt  swung  broadside  to  the  yellow 
curling  ripples,  and  only  by  good  luck  and  prompt 
action  were  we  able  to  avert  a  capsize.  Finally  we 
landed,  a  sadly  bedraggled  trio.  The  man's  feet 
looked  much  like  pincushions,  so  full  were  they  of 
the  porky's  quills.  It  took  us  about  an  hour  to 
drive  that  animal  to  the  snow  patch  and  another 
hour  to  persuade  the  obstinate  bunch  of  quills  to 
pose  as  required  by  the  story.  Finally,  however, 
the  picture  was  made,  and  as  the  animal  had  lost 
so  many  of  his  quills  we  released  him  as  being  of 
no  further  use.  On  returning  to  the  farm  we 
found  that  the  second  one,  which  we  had  imagined 
so  securely  imprisoned,  had  taken  French  leave, 
and  we  were  left  without  a  model  for  to-morrow. 
That  night  and  several  more  we  hunted  in  vain  for 
another  suitable  porky ;  we  found  several,  but  all 
were  of  most  disreputable  appearance. 

At  length  the  man  suggested  that  we  go  to  some 
woods  five  or  six  miles  away.  There  not  only  should 
we  find  an  abundance  of  the  animals  we  sought,  but 
the  conditions  would  be  thoroughly  satisfactory  for 
the  setting.  All  this  sounded  so  hopeful  that  we 
packed  up,  and  with  blankets,  cameras,  and  food 
supplies  for  five  or  six  days  we  made  an  early  start, 
each  of  us  carrying  our  loads  of  about  sixty-five 
pounds.  It  was  a  delightful  walk  through  those 
mixed  forests ;  at  times  we  made  our  way  among 
the  dark  spruces  and  hemlocks,  walking  on  the  soft, 


54     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

spongy  moss  and  climbing  over  the  frequent 
windfalls.  Then  there  would  be  hardwood  ridges 
where  the  gleaming  silver-and-white  of  the  beeches 
and  birches  reflected  all  the  tender  tints  of  the 
delicate  spring  leaves  and  bursting  buds.  Many  of 
the  early  arriving  warblers  darted  among  the  lace- 
like  foliage  searching  for  unwary  insects.  It  was 
all  beautiful,  but  the  hills  were  many  and  steep  and 
the  loads  heavy,  and,  worst  of  all,  the  mosquitoes 
and  black  flies,  those  terrors  of  the  otherwise  perfect 
north-woods,  were  wakened  to  unwonted  activity 
by  the  warmth  of  the  spring  sun.  The  edge  of  the 
lake  was  reached  at  last ;  here  we  made  camp  in 
simple  fashion.  No  tent  from  the  city  outfitters. 
Itwas  not  needed  in  the  land  of  birch-bark.  In  less 
than  an  hour  we  had  peeled  off  great  slabs  of  glisten- 
ing bark,  enough  to  cover  our  lean-to  and  render 
it  proof  against  the  most  severe  rains.  Before  the 
sun  set  we  visited  the  lake  and  caught  a  few  trout 
for  supper.  Strange  it  is  how  much  one  enjoys 
a  meal  cooked  out  of  doors,  where  the  smell  of 
burning  wood  permeates  everything.  The  simplest 
food,  badly  cooked  though  it  may  be,  and  usually 
is,  tastes  better  far  than  the  best  of  indoor  cooking. 
A  few  rashers  of  bacon  curled  and  smoked  over 
the  glowing  embers,  eaten  with  hot  soda  biscuits 
(often  called  scones)  baked  in  the  tin  oven,  is 
good  enough  for  any  man  out  in  the  woods,  yet 
the  same  man  would  scorn  such  a  dinner  served 
on  delicate  china  in  a  well-appointed  dining-room. 
Why  is  it?  Just  as  for  the  fisherman  it  is  not 
the  fish  but  the  conditions  under  which  they  are 
caught  that  gives  the  pleasure ;  so  it  is  with  the 


STORY   OF   A  PORCUPINE   HUNT     55 

food.  It  is  not  the  food  itself,  but  the  sur- 
roundings, the  environment,  which  give  it  such 
a  zest. 

We  rolled  ourselves  in  our  blankets  on  our  springy 
beds  of  spruce  boughs  and  watched  the  crackling 
fire,  fascinated  as  one  always  is  by  the  ruddy  smoke 
as  it  swept  upward  toward  the  twinkling  stars, 
faintly  illuminating  the  dark  branches  of  the  sur- 
rounding trees.  As  we  watched  we  listened — 
listened  for  the  sound  of  a  wandering  porcupine 
which,  attracted  by  the  smell  of  bacon,  might  be 
tempted  to  approach  our  camp.  While  watching 
we  often  dozed,  for  we  were  tired  with  the  healthy 
tiredness  of  outdoor  life.  It  was,  perhaps,  ten  o'clock, 
the  fire  had  died  down  to  a  few  smouldering  logs 
which  sent  up  fitful  flames  of  tiny  sparks  and  blue 
wreaths  of  smoky  plumes,  when  we  were  awakened 
by  the  faint,  shrill  call  of  porcupines,  several  of  which 
were  evidently  near  by.  We  listened  for  some  time 
until  we  thought  we  knew  where  the  nearest  one 
was.  Then,  slipping  on  our  boots  and  taking 
torches  of  birch-bark,  we  quietly  made  our  way 
towards  the  sound.  On  we  went,  further  and 
further,  making  our  way  with  great  difficulty  over 
the  fallen  trees,  among  the  upturned  roots  and  the 
tangle  of  underbrush.  Suddenly  the  flaring  torch 
showed  us  a  porky  not  twenty-five  feet  away.  The 
light  striking  the  polished  ends  of  the  quills  gave 
him  a  most  peculiar  appearance.  For  a  moment  he 
watched  us,  surprised  at  the  strange  sight,  then, 
deciding  that  we  would  look  better  from  a  greater 
distance,  he  started  away  with  all  of  us  after  him. 
Never  have  I  taken  part  in  a  stranger  chase.  We 


56    WILD  LIFE  AND   THE  CAMERA 

floundered  in  mudholes,  tumbled  over  tree  trunks, 
caught  our  feet  in  the  hidden  moss-covered  roots  as 
we  tried  to  dodge  this  way  and  that  after  the  elusive 
creature  who  seemed  not  to  know  which  way  to  go. 
First  this  way,  then  that  way,  sometimes  with  a 
sudden  change  of  mind  back  he  would  head,  dodg- 
ing right  between  us,  just  as  we  were  mixed  up  in 
various  obstructions  in  the  strange  light  cast  by 
the  three  torches,  our  dancing  shadows  chasing 
each  other  like  dark  phantoms.  On  and  on  we  went, 
paying  no  attention  to  our  direction,  till  at  last  we 
cornered  the  bewildered  beast  between  the  root 
knees  of  a  large  cedar.  With  considerable  difficulty 
we  fastened  a  stout  line  around  one  hind  leg  of  the 
indignant  creature,  and  with  still  greater  difficulty 
drove  him  to  where  we  thought  the  camp  should 
be.  Apparently  we  had  been  going  in  circles  while 
stumbling  through  the  woods,  and  though  not  more 
than  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  starting-point, 
we  were  so  bewildered  that  none  of  us  could  say 
where  the  camp  was.  Finally,  after  many  false 
directions  and  signs  had  been  followed,  we  were 
surprised  by  a  thin  column  of  smoke  and  sparks 
rising  only  a  few  yards  away  from  where  we  were 
holding  a  consultation.  Had  it  not  been  for  that 
smoke  we  might  have  wandered  till  daylight. 

On  arriving  at  the  camp  we  wrere  much  surprised 
and  amused  to  see  a  fine  big  porcupine  hurrying 
away.  The  rascal  had  been  stealing  our  bacon  and 
we  came  in  time  to  save  only  a  small  part  of  it. 
Hastily  securing  our  captive  to  a  tree  stump,  we 
proceeded  to  catch  the  retreating  thief.  Soon  we 
had  him  tied  by  the  hind  legs  to  a  convenient  tree, 


0 

a 

71 


§• 

o 

i 


STORY  OF  A  PORCUPINE   HUNT    57 

and  we  returned  to  the  camp  to  secure  more 
thoroughly  the  first-caught  porky.  To  our  utter 
disappointment  we  discovered  nothing  but  the  end 
of  the  cord,  which  he  had  evidently  bitten  through. 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  we  were  utterly 
disgusted  at  our  bad  luck,  or  carelessness,  whichever 
you  like  to  call  it.  We  had  learned  our  lesson 
however,  and  immediately  took  precautions  against 
the  escape  of  our  last  victim.  Then  we  all  crawled 
into  the  lean-to  for  a  few  hours'  sleep.  The  night 
was  warm,  so  we  had  allowed  the  fire  to  die  down, 
and  we  arranged  our  blankets  in  the  dark.  A 
shout  of  surprise  and  pain  from  the  man  caused  me 
to  quickly  strike  a  match  and  by  its  flickering  light 
I  saw  a  most  amusing  sight.  The  escaped  porcu- 
pine had  retreated  to  the  inner  part  of  the  lean-to, 
and  finding  the  blankets  very  much  to  his  liking, 
had  decided  to  make  his  bed  there  and  then.  The 
man  in  moving  the  blankets  had  come  into  contact 
with  the  animated  pincushion  and  had  received  a 
full  dose  of  quills  into  his  hands,  with  the  result 
that  he  entirely  failed  to  see  the  funny  side  of  the 
situation.  Of  course  he  was  powerless  to  do  any- 
thing with  his  fingers  in  that  condition,  so  after 
lighting  a  torch  I  extracted  all  the  quills,  a  painful 
and  very  tedious  task.  The  boy  in  the  meantime 
kept  his  eye  on  the  porky.  Eventually  all  the  quills 
were  removed,  and  then  the  porky  was  fastened  to 
a  tree  to  await  the  morning's  work. 

After  a  few  hours  of  refreshing  sleep  we  were 
up,  and  by  the  time  the  sun  was  high  enough  we 
began  the  photographic  work.  One  of  the  pictures 
called  for  a  lake  shore  setting ;  this  required  my 


58     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

going  into  the  ice-cold  water  with  the  camera,  and 
a  more  miserable  half-hour  I  have  seldom  spent, 
for  apart  from  the  cold,  and  the  water  was  well 
above  my  knees,  the  air  was  filled  with  thousands 
of  detestable  black  flies  and  "  no-see-ems, "  whose 
poisonous  stinging  bite  nearly  drives  a  man  crazy. 
It  was  no  fun,  but  really  hard  work,  and  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  sitting  in  a  comfortable 
studio  making  drawings  was  far  easier  than  making 
photographic  illustrations  of  wild  animals. 

One  of  the  subjects  was  a  porcupine  sitting 
among  the  topmost  branches  of  a  hemlock  tree. 
How  I  blessed  the  author  of  the  story  for  choosing 
such  a  tree  with  its  bending  branches.  We  cut 
down  a  vigorous-looking  tree,  took  off  the  top  and 
stuck  it  firmly  in  the  ground.  The  next  question 
was,  how  could  we  induce  the  porky  to  climb  it  ? 
Apparently  there  was  no  question  about  it  so  far 
as  the  animal  was  concerned,  he  simply  refused 
point  blank,  and  nothing  that  we  could  do  had  the 
slightest  effect  on  his  determination.  With  any 
other  small  creature  it  would  have  been  an  easy 
matter  to  place  him  exactly  where  we  wished,  but 
unfortunately  one  cannot  handle  these  prickly 
customers.  Finally  we  tied  the  perverse  beast 
to  a  stout  pole,  hoisted  him  up,  and  when  he 
grasped  the  branch  we  cut  the  cord,  whereupon  he 
promptly  fell  to  the  ground,  and  we  had  to  repeat 
this  operation  several  times  before  he  at  last  decided 
to  hold  on  and  the  picture  was  quickly  made. 

Another  illustration  required  a  dug-out  canoe. 
The  man  said  he  knew  where  there  used  to  be  an 
old  one,  which  we  might  be  able  to  find  in  a  certain 


6X7 

d 
Q 


o 
fl 

I 
I 


STORY   OF  A  PORCUPINE   HUNT    59 

tangled  swamp.  On  our  way  to  the  place  we 
found  a  fine  porky  sitting  asleep  on  the  branch  of 
a  tall  spruce.  Surely  an  excellent  opportunity  for 
securing  a  model  with  very  little  trouble.  Simply 
cut  down  the  tree  and  we  would  have  him,  so 
thought  we.  Porky  thought  differently,  As  we 
cut,  up  he  went  till  he  reached  the  topmost 
branches.  The  tree  swung  slowly  as  the  last  strokes 
of  the  axe  cut  through,  then  with  gradually 
increasing  speed  it  heeled  over,  grazing  another 
tree  as  it  fell.  The  porky  took  advantage  of  the 
situation  to  scramble  off  the  fallen  tree  on  to 
the  standing  one,  and  there  he  stayed,  smiling,  I 
imagine,  at  our  discomfiture.  To  cut  down  the 
second  tree  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  minutes, 
and  we  began,  but  before  half  a  dozen  white  chips 
had  flown  from  the  keen  edge  of  the  axe  the  clever 
creature  decided  that  it  was  moving  time,  and  he 
left  the  vibrating  tree  and  climbed  into  the  branches 
of  another  one.  The  pursuit  was  hopeless,  so  we 
gave  up  and  continued  our  search  for  the  dug-out, 
which  we  eventually  discovered  in  a  long  aban- 
doned beaver  canal  leading  from  the  swamp  to  the 
lake.  When  I  say  we  found  the  dug-out,  I  should 
more  properly  say  we  found  half  of  it,  for  that  was 
all  that  remained  of  the  rough-hewn  craft.  Of 
course  itwould  not  float ;  we  therefore  placed  it  in 
very  shallow  water  so  that  it  rested  on  the  bottom, 
with  the  broken  end  on  a  tussock,  and  when  we 
brought  the  necessary  porcupine  the  following 
morning  we  were  able,  with  very  slight  trouble,  to 
make  the  picture  just  as  it  was  described  in  the 
story.  The  camera  was  placed  so  that  the  broken 


60    WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

part  of  the  canoe  came  against  the  edge  of  the 
plate.  We  had  many  other  interesting  and  some- 
times tiring  experiences  before  the  series  of  pictures 
was  completed,  and  it  was  with  great  pleasure  that 
I  sent  in  the  result  two  days  ahead  of  the  appointed 
time. 

This  was  probably  the  first  animal  story  ever 
illustrated  entirely  with  the  camera  in  which  a 
really  wild  or,  I  should  say,  many  wild  animals  were 
used  and  every  detail  of  the  described  scenes 
rendered  as  accurately  as  though  done  with  the 
brush.  Whether  the  results  justify  the  labour  is 
a  question.  Apart  from  the  fact  that  they  give  a 
touch  of  realism  and  so  make  the  story  appear 
more  true,  I  should  be  inclined  to  answer  it  in  the 
negative.  Such  pictures  are  not  easy  to  procure, 
but  there  is  in  the  making  of  them  an  element  of 
sport  which  is  a  reward  for  all  of  the  hardships, 
and  further  than  that  it  takes  one  into  the  woods 
where  there  is  unlimited  opportunity  to  learn 
something  of  the  great  out  of  doors,  where  Nature 
has  always  something  new  to  tell  us  if  we  will  but 
use  our  ears  and  our  eyes.  And  when  at  the  end  of 
each  day's  work  in  the  woods  we  roll  ourselves  up 
in  our  blankets,  we  sleep — sleep  that  delicious 
refreshing  sleep  of  the  kind  unknown  to  the 
man  who  works  only  in  the  studio. 


BIRDS   AND   THE  CAMERA 


CHAPTER   IV 

BIRDS   AND   THE    CAMERA 

NOWADAYS,  when  the  camera  forms  a  necessary 
part  of  the  nature-interviewer's  and  pleasure-seeker's 
outfit,  no  creature,  human  or  otherwise,  is  safe  from 
the  press-the-button  brigade.  Nearly  every  person 
who  can  afford  one,  and  many  who  cannot,  possess 
or  hope  to  possess  a  camera,  and  with  these  every 
imaginable  object,  animate  or  inanimate,  is  por- 
trayed. Comparatively  few,  however,  of  the  great 
army  ever  direct  their  energies  to  the  photographing 
of  birds.  It  is  difficult  to  account  for  this  lack  of 
interest  in  such  a  fascinating  branch  of  camera 
work  ;  perhaps  it  is  because  so  few  people  know  or 
care  for  the  feathered  tribes,  while  even  those  who 
really  do  interest  themselves  in  these  useful  mem- 
bers of  creation  fear  the  many  difficulties  to  be 
met  with  in  bird  photography.  Not  many  people 
are  possessed  of  a  sufficient  amount  of  patience 
to  watch  quietly  through  the  long  hot  hours  of  a 
summer's  day  in  the  hopes  of  perhaps  securing  a 
single  photograph  of  a  live  bird.  Without  this 
patience  no  one  need  hope  to  succeed.  True,  an 
occasional  "  snapshot "  when  conditions  happen  to 
be  favourable  may,  and  sometimes  does,  result  in 
the  obtaining  of  a  good  picture,  but  he  who  would 
interview  a  bird  with  the  camera  must  be  prepared 
for  endless  disappointments;  and,  should  weeks 


64     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

pass  by  and  no  good  photographs  be  secured,  he 
must  not  be  discouraged.  Birds  are  somewhat 
uncertain  in  their  moods,  and  years  of  persecu- 
tion by  man  have  had  the  effect  of  instilling  in 
them  a  very  natural  feeling  of  fear  and  distrust, 
which  can  only  be  changed  by  kindness  and 
patience. 

My  chapter  on  the  worm-eating  warbler  and  her 
family  offers  a  good  example  of  what  patience  and 
fair  treatment  can  accomplish  with  birds.  It  must 
not  be  imagined  that  this  comparatively  rare  bird 
would  come  so  near  the  camera  when  first  we  met ; 
that  would  have  been  expecting  too  much.  Only 
after  she — for  I  presume  it  was  a  female — had 
learned  to  know  me,  and  realised  that  I  intended  no 
harm,  did  she  place  such  confidence  in  one  whom 
she  had  probably  considered  her  natural  enemy. 
Let  one  of  these  warblers  be  seen  by  a  collector, 
and  what  is  its  fate  ?  Death,  with  Science  as  the 
threadbare  and  usually  valueless  excuse.  Would 
that  more  of  the  so-called  collectors  (I  do  not  refer 
to  those  who  are  really  working  upon  a  scientific 
basis  and  with  a  knowledge  of  their  subject  that 
enables  them  to  do  the  good  expected  of  them) 
might  more  often  exchange  the  gun  for  the  camera ! 
If  that  could  be,  photographers  as  well  as  the  birds 
would  be  the  gainers,  so  that  from  a  selfish  stand- 
point, if  for  no  other  reason,  I  would  recommend 
the  harmless  camera.  Take  for  example  the  accom- 
panying pictures  of  a  family  of  young  crested  fly- 
catchers. Surely  they  are  more  likely  to  give  pleasure 
in  this  form  than  if  they  were  a  set  of  the  most 
perfectly  made  "  skins,"  arranged  with  infinite  care 


The  Unruly  Brood  of  Flycatchers. 


The  same  Brood  ready  for  Food. 


BIRDS   AND   THE  CAMERA         65 

in  a  fancy  cabinet.  These  fly-catchers  I  had  watched 
ever  since  their  arrival  into  the  world.  Their 
nursery,  so  carefully  made,  was  placed  inside  the 
dead  branch  of  an  old  apple  tree.  With  full 
consideration  for  the  comfort  of  the  prospective 
family  of  six,  the  parents  had  gathered  a  quantity 
of  pine  needles,  and  of  these  entirely  was  the 
actual  nest  made  ;  a  few  feathers  were  added  as  a 
lining  that  would  keep  the  nestlings  warm  in  their 
earliest  babyhood. 

During  the  first  few  days  of  their  lives  the 
youngsters  were  by  no  means  objects  of  beauty ; 
rather  were  they  grotesque,  with  their  large  heads 
and  small  pinkish  bodies,  loosely  covered  with 
wrinkled  skin,  and  entirely  innocent  of  feathers  or 
any  other  covering  whatever.  Watching  their 
extremely  rapid  growth,  I  decided  that  by  July  4th 
some,  if  not  all  of  them,  would  be  nearly  ready  to 
be  launched  out  into  the  great  world  of  many 
enemies ;  so  it  was  on  that  day  the  family  posed 
for  me. 

It  usually  happens  that  in  a  brood  of  birds  there 
is  a  weakling,  so  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  upon 
close  examination  that  one  of  these  fly-catchers  was 
smaller  than  he  really  should  have  been  ;  and  not 
only  was  small,  but  much  undeveloped.  While  the 
others  were  almost  able  to  fly,  he  could  not  even 
keep  his  balance,  so  for  that  reason  I  was  unable  to 
place  him  on  the  apple  branch  that  formed  the  perch 
for  his  brothers  and  sisters.  They  were  strong  and 
well  developed,  but  of  unmanageable  dispositions. 
Though  perfectly  able  to  sit  on  the  branch,  it  was 
a  long  while  before  I  could  induce  them  to  do  so. 

W.L.C.  F 


66     WILD  LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

One  in  particular  aggravated  me  beyond  words. 
Instead  of  using  his  feet  for  what  nature  intended 
them,  he  insisted  on  clutching  tightly  hold  of  his 
wings,  as  though  that  were  of  the  slightest  use.  If  I 
disengaged  the  unruly  members  and  placed  his  toes 
as  they  should  be — around  the  branch — he  would 
roll  off,  either  backward  or  forward,  exactly  as  a 
mounted  bird  would  do  if  the  leg  wires  were  not 
secured.  For  fully  fifteen  minutes  this  perform- 
ance was  kept  up,  varied  only  in  its  tiresome 
monotony  by  the  other  four  nestlings.  Every  little 
while  they  would  simultaneously  follow  the  bad 
example  of  the  little  scamp — who,  by  the  way,  was 
about  the  largest  and  strongest  of  the  brood — and 
with  one  accord,  as  though  they  had  been  released 
from  their  support  by  the  pressing  of  an  electric 
button,  they  would  all  drop  off. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  most  people  who  were 
so  unfortunate  as  to  have  been  anywhere  in 
the  vicinity  of  New  York  will  remember  with 
unpleasant  distinctness  the  heat  of  the  national 
holiday — July  4th,  1900.  In  the  apple  orchard 
where  the  fly-catchers  had  their  nest,  and  which  was 
in  a  hollow  entirely  surrounded  by  hills,  the  heat 
was  intense,  for  the  breezes  did  not  venture  near. 
On  the  higher  ground  the  trees  might  be  seen 
lazily  waving  their  topmost  branches,  as  though 
wishing  to  inform  the  world  of  the  fact  that  up 
there,  at  least,  the  soft  summer  winds  deigned  to 
live ;  and  I  devoutly  wished  my  friends  the  fly- 
catchers had  not  chosen  for  their  nestling  place 
this  orchard,  which  seemed  as  though  it  had  been 
transplanted  from  the  tropics. 


BIRDS  AND  THE   CAMERA         67 

With  the  perspiration  dripping  from  every  pore, 
and  the  horse-flies  trying  persistently  to  make  their 
dinner  off  my  neck,  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  my 
stock  of  patience  was  soon  nearly  exhausted  ?  Yet 
there  was  something  decidedly  amusing  in  the  beha- 
viour of  my  little  models,  their  peculiar  objection  to 
the  business  of  posing  and  the  aggravating  manner 
in  which  they  expressed  their  disapproval  of  the 
whole  proceeding.  Many  times  I  would  succeed  in 
putting  three  or  even  four  on.  And  then,  just  as  I 
was  picking  up  the  last  of  the  unruly  crew,  the  first 
and  then  the  second  would  fall  limply  to  the  ground. 
When  these  were  restored  to  their  perch  the  others 
would  drop  off  one  by  one.  It  really  was  quite 
enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a  saint.  Suddenly,  and 
with  no  apparent  reason,  the  young  rascals  became 
possessed  of  a  better  spirit,  and  sat  as  quiet  as  models 
should.  I  was  greatly  relieved  at  this  welcome 
change,  but  how  was  it  to  be  accounted  for? 
Apparently  the  conditions  had  not  altered,  so  I  was 
forced  to  believe  that  a  note,  which  one  of  the  parents 
had  just  uttered,  was  a  command  to  the  young  ; 
perhaps  he  had  discovered  that  I  meant  no  harm, 
and  therefore  wished  his  children  to  behave  them- 
selves. Whatever  was  the  cause  I  was  thankful 
for  it,  and  immediately  arranged  the  camera,  so  that 
in  a  few  minutes  all  the  Masters  and  Misses  Fly- 
catcher were  secured  by  the  dry  plate  ready  to  be 
handed  down  to,  we  hope,  an  admiring  posterity. 

No  sooner  had  I  made  the  exposure,  than  Mrs. 
Fly-catcher  arrived ;  till  then  she  had  not  shown 
very  much  anxiety  for  her  youngsters,  but  now  she 
appeared  with  some  kind  of  insect  in  her  capacious 

F  2 


68    WILD   LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

beak,  and  with  a  peculiar  note  she  conveyed  to  the 
little  ones  the  news  that  there  was  food  near  by. 

It  is  quite  in  accordance  with  the  rules  and 
regulations  of  bird  life  that  when  food  is  brought 
to  the  nest,  each  member  of  the  hungry  (and  to  be 
a  young  bird  is  to  be  hungry)  family  shall  open  his 
or  her  beak  to  its  greatest  extent.  When  there  are 
six  such  mouths  open,  and  each  head,  held  on  high, 
trembles  violently  in  pleasurable  anticipation  of  the 
hoped-for  morsel,  we  cannot  help  wondering  how 
by  any  possibility  the  parent  bird  can  decide  which 
shall  have  the  food.  She  appears,  however,  to  waste 
no  time  in  considering  the  difficult  problem,  but 
instantly  drops  the  insect,  or  whatever  it  may  be, 
into  one  of  the  many  mouths.  Then,  after  remaining 
for  a  few  seconds  to  see  that  the  nursery  is  as  clean 
as  it  should  be,  she  hurries  away  in  quest  of  a  further 
supply  of  food. 

Now  the  five  young  birds  before  me  understood 
full  well  the  significance  of  their  mother's  call,  and 
one  after  another  they  opened  their  mouths,  but  in 
a  half-hearted  way  that  was  most  ridiculous. 
Evidently  they  realised  the  fact  that  things  were 
not  quite  as  they  should  have  been,  and  that 
perhaps,  after  all,  they  were  not  going  to  be  fed.  At 
any  rate  it  was  better  to  be  fully  prepared,  and  so 
it  was  that,  as  each  one  sat  with  a  silly  expression  on 
his  face  and  his  beak  partly  open,  I  made  the 
picture  of  which  the  accompanying  is  a  reproduc- 
tion. After  taking  another  photograph,  showing 
the  entire  brood  on  the  stump  that  contained  their 
cozy  home,  I  left  them  in  possession  of  the  orchard, 
and  sought  for  myself  a  place  where  the  breezes 


BIRDS   AND   THE   CAMERA         69 

blew,  there  to  rest  from  the  arduous,  though 
interesting,  labour  of  photographing  recalcitrant 
fly-catchers  under  the  direct  rays  of  the  hot  July  sun. 

On  such  a  trying  day  the  open  fields  and  scrub 
lands  offered  but  slight  inducement  for  bird  hunting, 
and  so  I  chose  by  preference  the  woods  and  thickets 
that  bordered  the  stream. 

It  was  a  likely  place  for  birds,  but  the  heat  was 
great,  and  I  wandered  in  that  aimless  way  which 
seldom  leads  to  finding  anything.  Here  and  there 
beneath  the  kindly  shadow  of  a  heavily  foliaged  tree 
I  noticed  birds,  but  they  showed  little  animation, 
and  sat  quietly  with  beaks  open  as  though  gasping 
for  breath.  Birds  suffer  greatly  from  heat,  so  that 
on  days  when  the  temperature  is  high  they  move 
about  but  little,  excepting  during  the  earlier  and 
later  hours  of  the  day,  preferring  rather  some 
secluded  and  shady  place  where  they  may  rest 
undisturbed  during  the  hours  of  the  greatest  heat. 

Not  finding  anything  new,  I  remembered  the 
beautiful  basket-like  nest  of  the  Red-eyed  Vireo,  in 
which,  but  twelve  days  ago,  I  had  seen  two  eggs 
and  two  tiny  naked  bodies  that  had  so  recently  left 
the  cramped  quarters  of  their  imprisoning  shell. 
Probably  by  now  they  would  have  abandoned  their 
nest  and  be  hiding  in  the  dense  tangle  of  vines 
that  grew  beneath  the  hanging  cradle.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  find  them,  but  fortune  is  often  kind, 
and  I  would  try  her  once  more. 

The  nest  as  I  drew  near  bore  the  semblance  of  a 
deserted  house,  and  indeed  it  proved  to  be  empty, 
but  even  in  its  emptiness  it  was  an  object  of 
interest.  I  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  it  was 


70    WILDLIFE  AND   THE  CAMERA 

largely  composed  of  strips  of  the  paper  hornet's 
nest.  These  were  held  in  place  by  numerous 
threads  of  caterpillar  silk  and  decorated  with  tufts 
of  white  material,  probably  cocoons'  or  spiders' 
nests.  The  entire  structure  was  wonderfully 
fashioned  and  was  a  good  example  of  the  extra- 
ordinary skill  of  the  little  architects.  While  I  was 
examining  all  these  exquisite  details,  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  bird-like  sound  in  the  thicket 
near  by.  Was  it  the  note  of  a  young  bird  ?  I  waited 
anxiously  for  a  repetition  of  the  sound.  For  a  few 
minutes  all  was  quiet,  only  a  wood-thrush  sang  its 
rich,  sad  song,  and  in  the  distance  a  woodpecker 
tapped  the  trunk  of  a  dead  tree.  Then  another 
sound  came  from  the  undergrowth,  only  the  faint 
peep-peep  of  a  young  bird,  but  it  delighted  me,  for 
on  a  careful  approach,  among  the  leaves  I  discovered, 
sitting  there  on  the  lower  branch  of  the  silky 
cornel,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  young  birds  I 
have  ever  met,  fit  indeed  to  have  been  cradled  in 
the  marvellous  nest  I  had  been  admiring,  for  it  was 
a  young  Red-eyed  Vireo — twelve  days  old — the  age 
when  its  beauty  is  more  conspicuous  than  at  any 
other  period  of  its  life. 

There  was  no  gaudy  colouring  to  this  little  ball 
of  fluff  that  it  did  not  need.  Nothing  could 
enhance  the  beauty  of  this  softly  coloured  bird  ; 
almost  might  it  be  called  a  living  symphony  in 
grey,  for  the  breast  was  very  pale  grey,  pearly  in 
its  extreme  delicacy ;  the  head  was  of  various 
shades  of  soft  grey,  while  the  back  was  of  a 
delicate  grey  or  olive-green  that  harmonised  most 
perfectly  with  the  other  subtle  shades. 


Young  Red-eyed  Vireo. 


BIRDS   AND   THE   CAMERA         71 

As  a  rule,  when  young  birds  are  discovered 
shortly  after  they  have  left  the  nest,  they  first  of 
all  sit  absolutely  still  with  beak  pointed  upwards, 
and  think  themselves  unseen.  As  soon,  however, 
as  they  know  they  have  been  detected,  they  drop 
down  among  the  leaves  and  undergrowth  and  are 
instantly  lost  to  view.  My  little  friend  followed 
no  such  line  of  action.  The  moment  I  placed  my 
finger  near  him,  he  hopped  on  to  it  in  a  most 
confiding  manner.  He  seemed  quite  tame  and 
rather  tired,  and  I  imagined  he  had  been  having 
his  first  lesson  in  flying  and  was  therefore  exhausted. 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  cause  1  know  not, 
but  it  was  not  very  long  before  he  nestled  himself 
down,  and  gradually  closing  his  eyes,  went  fast 
asleep,  quite  regardless  of  his  strange  perch.  In 
this  way  he  remained  until  a  call  from  one  of  his 
parents  awakened  him ;  he  carefully  stretched  his 
small  self  and  then  looked  about  him,  with  an 
expression  of  "  Where  am  I  ?  " 

Fearing  lest  he  should  become  too  lively,  I 
replaced  him  on  his  natural  perch  and  made  ready 
the  camera.  His  wakefulness  was,  however,  only 
temporary,  and  before  I  had  made  a  third  exposure 
he  was  fast  asleep  again.  So  I  left  the  sleeping  atom 
to  be  watched  over  by  those  who,  for  but  a  few 
short  weeks,  would  be  his  instructors  and  guardians, 
and  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  an  ovenbird  whose  beauti- 
ful dome-shaped  nest  was  hidden  among  the  dead 
leaves  in  the  woods  near  by.  She  was  at  home 
when  I  called,  so  I  decided  to  photograph  her. 
Unfortunately  the  roof  of  the  arched  nest  cut  off 
the  light  so  that  under  existing  circumstances  a 


72    WILD   LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

good  picture  could  scarcely  be  hoped  for.  A  small 
looking-glass,  however,  served  to  alter  things,  by 
throwing  the  sunlight  into  the  nest,  so  that  only  a 
very  short  exposure  was  necessary. 

My  mind  was  fully  made  up  to  make  the  further 
acquaintance  of  this  little  thrush-like  warbler  after 
the  arrival  of  her  brood,  for  it  is  only  then  that  one 
can  really  get  to  know  a  bird.  The  day  arrived,  and 
the  four  little  trembling  pink  bodies  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  speckled  eggs.  They  were  too  small  to 
photograph  then,  so  I  left  them  for  two  days  and 
then  made  one  photograph,  thinking  that  later  on,  as 
they  grew  stronger,  I  should  be  able  to  photograph 
them  at  different  stages  of  their  growth.  But  this 
was  not  to  be.  As  I  approached  the  domed 
nursery  I  was  greeted  by  the  pitiful  complaining 
note  of  the  pair  of  ovenbirds.  This  was  not  the 
way  in  which  they  usually  greeted  me.  I  feared 
the  worst,  and  my  fears  were  realised.  In  place  of 
the  nest  there  was  only  a  tangled  and  shattered 
heap  of  weed  stems  and  dry  leaves — the  materials 
that  but  a  few  hours  before  had  constituted  a 
beautiful  example  of  bird  architecture.  In  the 
soft  earth,  within  thirty  inches  of  the  ruins,  was  the 
print  of  a  cat's  foot.  Sick  at  heart,  I  left  the 
scene  of  misery  and  desolation,  vowing  an  awful 
vengeance  against  cats  in  general. 


" BLUEY 


CHAPTER  V 

"  BLUEY  "  ;  *    A   TRUE   STORY   OF   THE   VERY   BEST 
PET   BIRD 

THE  scene  was  laid  in  an  abandoned  apple 
orchard,  situated  in  a  snug  little  valley,  surrounded 
on  all  but  the  southern  side  by  heavily  timbered 
hills ;  these  kept  constant  guard,  ever  ready  to 
check  the  advance  of  the  cold  north  wind,  that 
enemy  of  the  spring  vegetation.  Here  it  was  that 
the  sun's  rays  were  held  captive  during  the  many 
hours  of  the  steadily  lengthening  days,  so  that  birds 
flocked  in  great  numbers,  in  quest  of  the  many 
insects  that  were  brought  to  life  by  the  generous 
warmth  ;  here  also  the  first  buds  were  to  be  found. 
They  peeped  out  as  though  frightened,  and  the 
birds  took  advantage  of  these  delicacies  and  ate 
liberally  of  the  supply  so  easily  procured. 

With  one  exception  all  the  birds  were  spending 
the  long,  bright  days  (many  celebrating  their  return 
from  Southern  quarters)  in  flying  about,  singing, 
and  enjoying  the  Heaven-sent  sunshine  of  spring — 
the  power  that  was  coaxing  the  leaves  from  their 
protecting  sheaths,  to  clothe  the  woods  once  more 
in  a  rich  green  covering,  the  covering  that  must 
protect  the  more  delicate  flowers  from  the  scorching 
heat  of  the  midsummer  sun. 

All  nature  seemed  to  be  rejoicing  in  the  death  of 

*  Never  published  before. 


76     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

winter  with  its  hard,  relentless  fury,  that  had  smitten 
the  woods  and  hedgerows  as  though  with  a  poison 
breath,  and  bared  all  trees  save  the  sturdy  ever- 
greens, alone  able  to  withstand  its  furious  onslaught 
without  striking  their  colours. 

It  was  the  middle  of  April.  Here  and  there  in 
the  woods,  where  the  sun's  rays  had  not  yet 
penetrated,  might  be  found  small  patches  of  snow, 
the  gravestones  of  the  departed  winter  ;  near  these 
the  bloodroot,  white  as  though  born  of  the  melting 
snow,  lifted  its  leaf-encircled  stem,  and  the  Dutch- 
man's breeches,  with  its  lace-like  leaf  and  rows  of 
queer  little  nodding  flowers,  sprang  from  the  rich, 
leafy  mould.  These,  with  the  many  tinted  hepatica, 
whose  hardy  leaves  withstand  the  coldest  winter, 
were  the  harbingers  of  spring,  sharing  together  the 
honour  of  announcing  to  other  plants  that  'twas 
time  to  rise  and  make  ready,  for  the  season  was 
advancing,  and  the  country  must  be  decorated  for 
the  coming  gala  months  so  near  at  hand. 

Among  the  birds  who  came  to  the  old  apple 
orchard  so  sheltered  from  the  wintry  fierceness  of 
the  north  winds  that  insects  hatched  out  earliest 
here  and  the  buds  first  opened  and  offered  delicious 
morsels  to  the  Bluebirds,  were  the  many  visitors  who 
would  tarry  but  a  few  short  days  before  once  more 
resuming  the  journey  to  their  northern  breeding 
grounds.  From  these  they  would  return  in  a  few 
months,  accompanied  by  one  or  more  broods  of  fully 
grown  youngsters  all  joining  in  the  great  procession 
that  would  later  on  be  journeying  southward — when 
the  nights  began  to  be  cold,  and  the  trees  (by 
changing  their  dress  from  green  to  colours  that 


"BLUEY'  7T 

in  their  brilliancy  and  variety  would  outrival  the 
tints  of  the  setting  sun)  began  to  give  warning 
that  autumn  had  come,  and  cold  weather  might 
soon  be  expected. 

While  many  of  the  birds,  as  we  have  already 
noticed,  were  only  visitors,  by  far  the  greater 
number  were  old  friends  that  had  come  once  more 
to  build  their  nests,  rear  their  young,  and  fill  the 
woodlands  with  song.  What  would  the  woods  be 
without  the  soft  melody  of  the  feathered  choristers  ? 
The  early  morning  and  the  evening,  too,  would  be 
robbed  of  their  greatest  charm. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  attractions  offered  by 
nature  in  such  profusion,  at  this,  her  happiest 
season,  Mrs.  Bluebird,  who  had  taken  up  her 
quarters  in  a  soft  nest  of  grass  snugly  arranged  in 
a  dark  warm  cavity  in  the  dead  branch  of  an  apple 
tree,  now  sat  there  true  to  her  trust  day  after  day, 
imparting  her  life-impelling  warmth  to  her  five  pale 
green  treasures,  smooth  and  round  and  more  precious 
than  the  richest  jewels.  For  nearly  two  long  weeks 
sat  this  expectant  mother,  a  model  of  patience  and 
constancy,  never  for  a  moment  leaving  her  charge 
except  when  it  became  necessary  to  satisfy  her 
hunger.  No  less  constant  was  her  mate,  who  kept 
his  watch  near  by  and  sang  soft  love  songs  to  his 
patient  little  wife.  He  too  was  awaiting  the  time 
when  the  longed-for  young  would  emerge  from 
their  shells.  The  great  day  came  at  last,  the  day 
of  days.  The  soft  winds  of  spring  murmured  as 
they  carried  the  sweet  perfume  of  the  early  flowers 
through  the  orchard.  Mrs.  Bluebird  felt  a  delicate 
trembling  sensation  beneath  her  feathered  breast, 


78     WILD   LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

an  egg  moved,  a  tiny  atom  had  outgrown  its  con- 
fining shell,  its  bill  already  protruded  when   the 
mother  glanced  among  the  feathers  to  see  that  all 
was  progressing  favourably.      Who  shall  say  what 
were  her  sensations  when  she  saw  that  first  sign  of 
life,  the  reward  of  her  long  vigil  to  which  she  had 
been  so  untiringly  faithful  ?     Can  we  ask  whether 
she  realised  what  was  happening,  this  great  mystery 
of  life  which  was  being  enacted  in  that  branch  of 
the  apple  tree  ?  Did  she  take  it  all  as  a  matter  of 
course,  just  an  episode  in  the  day's  work  ?  Perhaps 
so,  but  it  was  none  the  less  important  to  the  new 
mother.     Should  you  doubt  this  statement,  call  to 
mind,  if  you  can,  seeing  a  bird  interrupted  at  this 
crisis,   what   anguish  is  displayed,  actually  heart- 
rending in  its  pitiful  intensity,  and^oubt  if  you  will 
whether  or  not  there  is  an  appreciation  of  the  over- 
whelming importance  of  this  family  event.     Even 
after  the  young  are  partly  grown  the  parents  have 
their  welfare  so  deeply  at  heart  that  they  will  risk, 
yes,  and  even  court  disaster  to  themselves  rather 
than  allow  any  harm  to  befall  the  precious  young- 
sters.    What  is  more  pathetic  than  the  bird  that 
pretends  to  be  disabled    in   order    to    coax   the 
intruder  to  follow  her,  that  her  young  may  have 
time  and  opportunity  to  hide  themselves.     With 
seemingly  broken  wings  or  broken  legs  dragging 
painfully  behind  her  she  flutters  along  a  few  yards 
ahead  of  the  pursuer,  until  in  some  unknown  way 
she  is  assured  that  her  young  are  in  safety.     Then 
what  a  change !      Off  she  flies   and   is  soon   lost 
to  view.     All  of  this  demonstrates  how  seriously 
birds  regard  the  responsibilities  of  parentage.     Let 


"  BLUEY  '  79 

us  peep  into  the  Bluebirds'  nest  as  one  by  one  the 
eggs  open. 

For  many  days  these  tiny  creatures  will  have 
but  two  ideas,  eating  and  sleeping.  These  to  them 
represent  life,  and  they  respond  with  wonderful 
rapidity  to  their  inspiration.  Now  that  the  hatch- 
ing has  come  at  last,  great  indeed  is  the  excitement 
while  the  industrious  parents  keep  up  a  steady 
search  for  insects  with  which  to  feed  their  ever 
hungry  brood.  With  the  first  light  of  day  they  are 
out,  searching  diligently  for  the  early  insects  in  the 
dew -laden  grass,  and  not  until  long  after  the  sun 
has  disappeared  behind  the  western  hill  do  the 
hungry  youngsters  stop  crying  for  food. 

At  first  the  fledglings  were  anything  but  beauti- 
ful— small,  fat,  shapeless,  naked  bodies  with  long 
slender  necks,  and  heads  so  much  too  large,  and 
with  closed  eyes  that  but  added  to  their  grotesque 
appearance.  At  the  slightest  sound  all  their  heads 
would  be  instantly  elevated,  and  with  sundry 
squeaks  their  mouths  would  open  so  wide  that  it 
looked  as  if  they  could  swallow  themselves.  If  no 
food  was  forthcoming,  the  heads,  after  swaying 
unsteadily  for  a  few  moments,  would  one  by  one 
drop,  and  once  more  form  part  of  that  hot,  heaving, 
shapeless  mass.  Rapidly  these  youngsters  grew, 
assuming  shape  and  gathering  strength ;  feathers, 
too,  began  to  appear,  and  by  the  time  they  were  a 
few  days  old  their  eyes  were  open,  and  the  naked 
bodies  were  partly  clothed.  It  does  not  take  long 
for  young  birds  to  attain  their  full  size ;  each  day 
makes  a  difference  in  their  appearance  that  must  be 
seen, to  be  realised.  What  pleasure  must  the  change 


80     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

have  given  to  Mrs.  Bluebird  !  How  proud  of  her 
family  must  she  have  been !  That  is,  if  we  can  judge 
the  bird's  point  of  view  from  what  our  own  would 
be  under  similar  conditions.  Perhaps  to  do  so  is 
entirely  wrong.  And  yet,  after  close  study  of  birds 
and  animals  one  is  forced  to  realise  that  the  differ- 
ence between  theirs  and  human  characteristics  is 
not  so  great  as  many  would  suppose.  For,  jealousy, 
individual  likes  and  dislikes,  selfishness,  generosity, 
the  sense  of  common  responsibility — all  of  these 
are  to  be  found  in  even  the  smallest  of  birds. 

It  was  on  the  fourteenth  day  that  two  of  the  brood, 
being  somewhat  stronger  and  larger  than  their 
companions,  climbed  to  the  entrance  of  the  nest 
and  took  a  general  survey  of  the  surroundings. 
What  thoughts  were  theirs  as  they  saw  for  the  first 
time  the  beauty  of  the  great  world  !  They  balanced 
themselves  with  considerable  uncertainty,  standing 
with  much  of  their  weight  on  the  tarsus  (heel),  for 
their  feet  were  still  very  weak,  but  owing  to  the 
extreme  sharpness  of  their  toe-nails,  they  were  able 
to  hold  securely  to  the  rough  bark. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  we  came  into  the  story. 
While  strolling  through  the  orchard  in  search  of 
material  for  bird  photographs  and  study,  we  saw 
the  two  young  birds  at  the  entrance  of  their  nest. 
Here  was  the  chance  I  had  been  looking  for — a 
young  Bluebird  that  could  be  pictured  periodically 
to  show  its  growth  and  development.  The  fact 
was  very  evident  that  if  we  wanted  one  of  this 
brood  for  a  pet,  and  an  object  for  study,  there  was 
no  time  to  lose,  for  within  a  few  hours  they  would 
all  be  leaving  the  nest ;  accordingly  we  selected  one 


"  Bluey." 


"  BLUEY  '  81 

that  seemed  tame  and  tractable,  and  carried  him 
home  that  very  day.  The  parents  did  not  appear 
to  notice  the  theft,  for  the  kidnapped  bird  uttered 
no  sound  as  we  carried  him  off. 

From  the  very  beginning  he  bore  promise  of 
having  a  somewhat  unusual  disposition ;  tame, 
confiding,  affectionate  and  full  of  little  tricks  that 
were  an  endless  source  of  pleasure  to  us  all. 
Knowing  what  his  colour  would  be  in  the  near 
future,  though  at  present  he  was  spotted  with  tints 
of  bluish  gray,  we  by  common  consent  bestowed 
the  name  of  "  Bluey  "  on  our  pet,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  he  feathered  himself  to  suit  his  name. 

Of  course  all  young  birds  require  feeding  by 
hand  until  after  they  reach  their  full  size,  and 
Bluey  was  no  exception  to  the  rule,  but,  unlike 
other  fledglings,  he  was  by  no  means  content  to 
sit  on  his  perch  and  be  fed  in  the  regular  way. 
He  demanded  far  more  attention  and,  if  you 
please,  must  needs  have  a  person's  finger  upon 
which  to  stand,  while  he  received  mouthful  after 
mouthful  of  mashed  potato  and  egg.  The  quantity 
he  ate  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  his  diminutive 
size  ;  in  less  than  two  days  he  would  consume  an 
amount  of  food  about  equal  to  his  own  bulk.  As 
he  grew  older  less  food  would  satisfy  him,  but  still 
his  appetite  remained  most  excellent. 

Looked  at  from  the  standpoint  of  an  orthodox 
cage  bird,  Bluey,  during  the  first  few  months, 
could  not  be  considered  a  success ;  in  fact,  he 
objected  thoroughly  to  being  confined  to  a  cage, 
and  fought  continually ;  this,  however,  was  our 
own  fault,  as  we  allowed  him  so  much  freedom 

W.L.C.  o 


82     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

that  he  was  a  regular  spoiled  child.  His  cage, 
with  several  others,  was  hung  in  a  large  wire 
enclosure,  and  of  this  domain  Bluey  considered 
himself  absolute  monarch ;  he  would  go  into  his 
cage  only  for  food  and  water,  or  to  drive  out  some 
intruder,  for  he  was  cock-of- the- walk,  and  the  other 
birds  gave  way  to  him,  even  those  that  were  larger 
and  stronger ;  Fluff  and  She,  the  pair  of  rose- 
breasted  Grosbeaks,  were  frightened  into  a  state 
of  abject  terror  when  Bluey  threatened  them,  and 
this  he  did  quite  frequently,  seeming  to  enjoy  their 
complete  discomfiture.  Any  attention  which  we 
might  pay  to  other  birds  called  forth  an  angry 
remonstrance  from  this  little  autocrat.  He  even 
objected  to  any  bird  sitting  on  one's  shoulder — 
a  perch  he  considered  his  own  right  and  privilege, 
and  one  that  he  fully  intended  no  other  bird  should 
share. 

At  times  it  became  necessary  to  shut  him  in 
his  cage,  and  he  would  then  content  himself  for  a 
few  moments  by  giving  vent  to  his  displeasure  in 
repeated  calls — sharp,  impatient  notes  that  always 
showed  his  lordship  was  angry.  If  no  one  paid 
attention  to  him,  cage  fighting  would  begin,  and 
he  would  bang  his  head  against  the  wires.  It  was 
not  long  before  he  had  torn  out  all  the  forehead 
feathers,  and  with  his  little  bald  head  he  was  not 
an  object  of  beauty.  After  taking  a  bath,  which 
he  did  once  or  twice  each  day,  his  appearance  was 
positively  ludicrous.  His  mind,  however,  was  far 
above  such  things  as  personal  looks,  and  he  became 
more  and  more  affectionate  and  companionable, 
always  happy  if  only  allowed  to  nestle  snugly  in 


"  BLUEY '  83 

a  person's  partly  closed  hand.  Then  he  would  go 
to  sleep  as  peacefully  as  a  child  in  its  mother's  arms, 
uttering  a  peculiar  little  chirp  as  he  cozied  himself 
into  a  comfortable  position.  He  was  very  particular 
never  to  sit  in  a  hand  except  with  his  head  towards 
the  fingers ;  occasionally  by  mistake  he  got  in 
facing  the  wrist,  but  he  would  immediately  hop  out, 
and,  turning  round,  assume  his  regular  position. 
When  in  a  particularly  affectionate  mood  he  liked 
to  rub  his  beak  repeatedly  on  one's  fingers,  before 
going  to  sleep.  This  seemed  to  be  a  mark  of 
endearment,  somewhat  after  the  manner  in  which 
a  dog  rubs  his  nose  against  his  master's  hand.  It 
must  be  an  unusual  habit,  for  in  all  my  experience 
with  small  birds  I  have  known  of  no  similar  case. 

At  times,  but  by  no  means  often,  Bluey  per- 
formed a  little  trick  that  was  as  remarkable  as  it 
was  beautiful.  If  one  of  us  held  up  a  hand  (and 
no  stranger  need  apply)  and  called  him  by  name, 
he  would  immediately  fly  down,  and  after  hovering 
for  some  seconds,  singing  the  while,  alight  and  rub 
his  bill  several  times,  usually  on  the  first  finger. 
It  was  noticeable  that  he  always  perched  so  as  to 
face  the  fingers,  and  never,  even  by  accident, 
departed  from  this  rule.  Why  this  should  be  was 
a  constant  source  of  speculation,  and  one  that  I 
fear  must  for  ever  remain  among  the  many 
mysteries  of  bird-life.  We  try,  generally  in  vain, 
to  discover  the  reasons  for  the  actions  of  birds,  but 
it  is  difficult,  as  we  have  but  our  own  experiences 
to  go  by,  and,  while  birds  do  most  undoubtedly 
think,  they  probably  do  so  in  a  totally  different 
manner  from  ourselves.  When  Bluey  saw  his  bath 

G  2 


84     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

being  made  ready  he  knew  perfectly  well  what  it 
meant,  for  he  would  sit  on  my  sleeve  as  soon  as  the 
large  glass  tray  was  taken,  and  there  wait  while  it 
was  washed  and  filled  with  water.  The  moment  it 
was  full  of  clean  water,  and  even  before  it  was 
placed  on  the  ground,  he  would  jump  in  and 
immediately  splash  the  water  in  all  directions — for 
he  bathed  most  vigorously,  so  much  so,  indeed,  that 
at  frequent  intervals  he  had  to  pause  to  regain  his 
breath.  Our  other  birds  seemed  more  or  less 
suspicious  of  the  bath,  hopping  round  about  it  in  an 
undecided  manner  and  getting  in  and  out  in  a  way 
most  aggravating  to  us  who  had  taken  the  trouble 
to  give  them  the  pleasure.  One  bird  will  never 
take  his  bath  in  the  presence  of  an  onlooker,  while 
another  always  requires  to  be  sprinkled  before  he 
ventures  in.  But  then  Bluey  had  more  sense  than 
any  bird  1  have  ever  known ;  he  seemed  almost 
human  as  he  looked  into  one's  eyes,  as  though  he 
could  read  one's  very  thoughts.  When  called  by 
name  he  always  answered  with  a  chirp,  and  when  a 
certain  note  was  whistled  he  knew  full  well  that  it 
was  to  him  we  called,  and  he  would  reply  with  a 
short  song  of  four  or  five  notes,  accompanied  by  a 
quick  flapping  of  one  wing. 

That  Bluey  had  within  him  a  soul  for  music 
there  can  be  no  doubt.  The  piano  in  particular 
appealed  to  him,  for  whenever  it  was  played  he 
would  sit  either  on  the  top  of  the  instrument,  on 
the  keys,  or  sometimes  on  the  arm  of  the  player. 
No  amount  of  banging  disconcerted  him.  There 
he  sat,  with  feet  widespread  and  head  tilted 
slightly  to  one  side,  as  though  in  thorough 


"  BLUEY '  85 

enjoyment  of  the  music.  We  were  never  able  to 
discover  whether  he  had  a  preference  for  any 
particular  class  of  music — Wagner  or  Mendelssohn 
or  ragtime  seemed  to  suit  him  equally  well. 

All  birds  are  more  or  less  observant,  and  Bluey, 
being  highly  developed,  noticed  most  things.  Any 
unusual  change  in  the  dress  of  those  he  knew  was 
instantly  observed  and  carefully  scrutinised  ;  even 
a  necktie  of  unusual  colour  required  investigation, 
while  the  wearing  of  a  thimble,  or  a  glove,  might 
and  usually  did  arouse  suspicion,  and  he  would  not 
venture  near  the  hand  thus  adorned.  Many  birds 
object  seriously  to  any  shades  of  red,  but  Bluey,  so 
far  as  we  know,  had  no  such  prejudices. 

During  the  summer,  when  kept  in  the  large 
wire  enclosure,  it  often  happened,  through  the  door 
being  inadvertently  left  open,  that  Bluey  would 
get  out ;  but  so  tame  was  he,  that  after  a  short  fly 
about  the  grounds — where  the  wild  birds  chased 
him,  according  to  their  usual  habit  when  a  cage 
bird  escapes — he  would  return  to  any  one  he  knew. 

As  summer  drew  to  a  close  (the  end  of  August) 
Bluey  moulted  ;  his  spots,  which  were  the  signs  of 
his  youth,  disappeared,  and  in  their  place  came  a 
fine  coat  of  feathers  coloured  and  patterned  like  the 
mature  Bluebird.  The  blue  on  the  head  and  back 
was  at  first  bright  in  colour,  but  as  the  year  waned 
there  appeared  rusty  edgings  to  the  feathers, 
and  these  somewhat  marred  the  beauty  of  the  blue. 
His  throat,  breast,  and  sides  were  coloured  like 
terra- cotta,  which  bordered  on  the  white  of  the 
under  parts. 

Towards  the  end  of  autumn   we  had   a  severe 


86     WILD   LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

fright  on  our  pet's  account,  and  that  day  will  be 
ever  memorable  to  us,  for  we  thought  the  end 
had  come.  Bluey's  death  would  have  been  a  real 
blow,  for  he  had  so  endeared  himself  to  every 
member  of  the  family  that  the  loss  would  have 
been  well  nigh  irreparable.  What  had  happened 
no  one  at  the  time  knew,  but  Bluey  was  found  on 
the  ground,  limp  and  dazed,  apparently  in  a  dying 
condition.  At  first  we  thought  he  had  struck 
himself  against  something,  and  that  he  was 
stunned.  A  little  diluted  whisky  was  adminis- 
tered, and  he  gradually  recovered,  but  for  some 
hours  he  remained  very  quiet,  sleeping  peacefully 
in  the  hand  of  his  mistress.  When  night  came, 
and  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  roost,  it  was  with 
great  difficulty  he  was  induced  to  leave  her  hand, 
for  he  clung  to  it,  as  though  disliking  the  idea  of 
being  alone. 

The  following  day  Bluey  seemed  to  have  quite 
recovered,  and  he  was,  as  usual,  allowed  the  freedom 
of  the  house.  It  was  not  long  before  he  repeated 
the  performance  of  the  previous  day  :  while  in  the 
act  of  flying,  he  dropped  down  in  a  fit,  and  again 
we  thought  him  dying,  for  he  lay  on  his  back  with 
feet  upturned  and  beak  wide  open,  gasping  for 
breath,  his  eyes  shut.  Lifting  him  gently,  we 
tried  to  do  something ;  but  we  soon  gave  up  all 
hope  of  his  recovery.  After  a  little  while,  how- 
ever, his  little  heart  began  beating  with  greater 
strength  ;  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  to  our  great 
relief  and  astonishment  he  yawned,  shook  his 
feathers,  nestled  in  my  hand,  and  went  fast  asleep. 

The  next  day  passed  and  he   seemed  perfectly 


«  BLUEY '  87 

well,  and  we  congratulated  ourselves  upon  what 
seemed  to  be  his  complete  recovery.  But  our  hearts 
sank  when  during  the  following  morning  the  poor 
little  chap  had  two  further  attacks.  In  despair  we 
consulted  a  bird  fancier,  who  told  us  that  it  was  no 
uncommon  occurrence  with  soft-billed  birds.  This 
was  some  small  consolation,  but  the  remedy  recom- 
mended did  not  at  all  appeal  to  us.  Rush  of  blood 
to  the  head  was,  he  said,  the  cause,  and  the  cure 
was  to  let  out  some  blood  by  cutting  the  toe. 

Needless  to  say  this  was  an  operation  the  per- 
formance of  which  we  dreaded,  but  then  Bluey 
must  be  cured  at  any  cost,  and  if  this  was  necessary, 
as  the  bird  man  declared,  it  must  be  done — and 
done  it  was  the  very  next  day.  The  patient  did 
not  seem  to  object  at  all  at  the  time,  although  the 
next  day  his  foot  was  slightly  inflamed.  To  us  the 
most  painful  part  was  that  he  was  not  cured,  for 
on  both  the  following  days  he  had  fits,  proving 
absolutely  that  the  operation  had  been  in  vain.  In 
giving  these  unpleasant  details,  it  is  with  the  hope 
that  if  any  one  reads  these  pages,  and  chances  to 
have  a  pet  bird  that  is  subject  to  fits,  he,  or  she,  will 
not  adopt  the  above  method  in  trying  to  effect  a  cure. 

We  next  tried  giving  Bluey  a  complete  change 
of  diet ;  hitherto  he  had  had  moist  "  mockingbird 
food,"  which  is  very  rich ;  now  we  tried  the  dry 
preparation  freely  mixed  with  grated  carrot,  and 
from  that  day  he  was  perfectly  well  and  happy,  to 
the  infinite  relief  of  all  his  friends,  for  he  was 
looked  upon  quite  as  a  member  of  the  family. 

For  some  months  all  went  well.  Bluey  was 
himself  again,  a  healthy,  affectionate,  and  lovable 


88     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

bird,  but  another  mishap  was  in  store,  and  it  was 
one  that  very  nearly  proved  fatal.  He  had  been 
allowed  the  free  run  of  the  house,  and  spent  his 
time  in  flying  about  from  room  to  room,  investi- 
gating everything,  devouring  any  stray  flies, 
crawling  in  each  nook  and  cranny  and  nestling 
for  a  few  moments  in  places  that  were  to  his  fancy, 
— and  no  one  could  tell  what  places  he  might 
choose.  Those  that  had  been  most  carefully  arranged 
with  special  reference  to  his  supposed  wants  were  so 
entirely  ignored  that  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
we  understood  not  his  whims  and  fancies.  But  this 
capriciousness  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  accident 
that  occurred  when  he  was  flying  through  the  hall 
one  morning,  with  the  evident  intention  of  joining 
us  at  the  breakfast  table.  Someone  banged  the  door 
just  as  Bluey  was  about  to  enter  ;  he  was  struck  in 
mid-air  and  uttered  such  a  piercing  cry  that  we  all 
thought  he  had  been  killed.  By  sheer  good  luck, 
however,  the  door  had  only  bruised  the  side  of  his 
head,  thereby  changing  its  shape  completely  and 
distorting  his  beak,  so  that  his  whole  appearance  was 
altered.  For  many  days  he  kept  very  quiet,  neither 
singing  nor  caring  to  be  petted  ;  but  gradually  the 
swelling  went  down  as  weeks  passed  by,  and  his  head 
resumed  its  natural  size  and  shape.  The  result  of 
the  accident  was  shown  by  his  no  longer  being  able 
to  snap  his  bill  (the  points  not  coming  quite  together) 
as  he  used  to  do  when  eating.  He  took  his  food 
quietly  ;  even  a  fly  would  be  caught  without  the  loud 
snap  so  characteristic  of  the  bluebird  when  feeding. 
Bluebirds  being  almost  entirely  insectivorous,  we 
had  to  keep  Bluey  well  supplied  with  various  kinds 


«  BLUEY '  89 

of  insects.  Flies,  grasshoppers,  beetles,  and  small 
moths  seemed  to  be  most  in  demand.  Flies  he 
would  catch  with  wonderful  dexterity.  They  were 
swallowed  instantly,  often  before  being  killed. 
Grasshoppers  we  caught  and  let  loose  in  the 
enclosure,  and  it  was  extremely  interesting  to 
watch  the  systematic  way  in  which  he  went  about 
the  work  of  eating  them.  If  several  were  let  loose 
at  once,  he  would  instantly  pounce  down  on  them, 
and  deliberately  kill  one  after  another  by  ham- 
mering them  with  his  beak.  When  quite  satisfied 
that  they  were  all  hors  de  combat,  he  would  shake 
off  the  legs  of  each  one  in  turn  and  swallow  the 
bodies,  each  at  a  gulp.  Finally  he  would  gather 
up  and  eat  all  the  legs  ;  not  one  would  escape  his 
keen  eye.  The  number  of  grasshoppers  he  could 
devour  at  a  meal  was  out  of  all  proportion  to 
his  size.  I  have  known  no  less  than  eight  to 
disappear  down  that  beautiful  throat  within  a  few 
minutes. 

His  method  of  disposing  of  a  large  number  of 
hopping  insects  shows  a  great  amount  of  reasoning 
power  (though  birds  are  not  supposed  to  reason). 
He  knew  full  well  that  were  they  not  all  killed  in 
the  shortest  possible  time  some  would  surely  escape. 
Curiously  enough  this  was  not  the  result  of  long 
experience,  for  when  he  was  but  a  few  weeks  old  we 
gave  him  several  grasshoppers,  and  when  he  saw  their 
powers  of  jumping,  he  then  and  there  made  up  his 
mind  they  would  get  away  if  not  immediately  killed  ; 
and  he  promptly  proceeded  to  kill. 

Two  years  after  Bluey's  arrival  we  moved  to 
a  house  that  we  had  built  near  a  delightful 


90     WILD   LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

little  village  fifty  miles  from  New  York.  It  was  in 
April,  when  the  bluebirds  had  just  arrived  from 
their  southern  winter  trip.  As  usual  Bluey  was 
allowed  his  freedom,  and  greatly  did  he  enjoy  flying 
about  the  apple  orchard,  searching  with  his  keen 
eyes  for  insects  which  were  to  his  taste.  One  day 
while  on  an  outing  he  met  a  little  Miss  Bluebird. 
Need  more  be  said  ?  When  we  called  him  he  simply 
laughed  at  us,  laughed  and  scolded  as  he  sat  with  his 
bride  on  the  roof  of  an  old  barn.  There  was  nothing 
for  us  to  do  but  submit  to  the  inevitable.  Love  had 
conquered,  as  it  always  will,  and  so  we  lost  our  pet — 
the  dearest  of  little  companions  whose  song  had  so 
often  cheered  us  and  whose  delightful  ways  had 
been  a  constant  source  of  pleasure  during  the  two 
years  he  had  been  with  us. 

P.S. — Nearly  a  year  has  gone  by  since  the  fore- 
going was  written.  A  strange  thing  has  happened. 
In  a  bird  box  fastened  outside  my  studio  a  pair  of 
bluebirds  have  taken  up  their  quarters.  While 
watching  them  as  they  sat  on  the  branch  of  a  dog- 
wood tree  that  grew  near  by  I  called  as  I  used  to 
call  Bluey.  To  my  surprise  there  came  the 
familiar  reply  and  the  fluttering  of  the  wing. 
Was  it  our  old  pet  ?  I  believe  so,  for  surely  no 
other  bird  would  have  answered  as  he  did.  For 
two  summers  he  stayed  with  us,  and  whenever  I 
called  he  would  nearly  always  answer,  but  we  were 
less  to  him  than  his  mate.  He  had  tasted  freedom, 
and  he  liked  it  better  than  the  restriction  we  had 
imposed  on  his  wilful  spirit.  He  was  living  the 
life  for  which  he  was  made,  and  we  could  not  find 
it  in  our  hearts  to  quarrel  with  his  choice. 


MY  CHIGADEE   FRIENDS 


• 


CHAPTER  VI 

MY   CHICADEE   FRIENDS  * 

A  true  account  of  an  experience  with  a  chicadee  family. 

CHICADEE,  chicadee,  chicadee-dee-dee  came  from 
among  the  branches  of  the  swaying  silver  birch. 
The  same  note  was  echoed  from  another  tree  near 
by.  This  was  in  the  woods  where  the  ground  was 
dark  and  damp  from  the  rains  of  early  spring,  there 
was  as  yet  but  scanty  vegetation,  which  might  be 
seen  trying  to  force  its  way  through  the  thickly 
matted  leaves  of  the  year  that  had  gone  for  ever. 
The  ground  was  so  entirely  covered  with  these 
reminders  of  the  departed  year  that  one  wondered 
whether  this  budding  spring  would  have  the 
power  to  hide  the  numerous  dying  skeletons.  The 
trees  were  in  all  the  tender  glory  of  their  new  green 
covering,  each  one  vying  with  its  neighbour  in  its 
effort  to  shade  the  ground,  and  to  keep  the  ever- 
increasing  heat  of  the  sun  from  burning  the  delicate 
plants  that  were  coming  into  life  in  the  soil  formed 
by  endless  years  of  dying  leaves.  In  all  things  was 
the  inevitable  sign  of  life.  The  birds'  songs  filled 
the  air  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  soft  rustling  of 
the  leaves. 

Again  came  the  sweet  call  of  the  chicadee,  with 
the  tenderest  of  answers — "Dee-dee" — and  through 
the  interlacing  branches  flew  a  small  ball  of  black, 

*  First  published  in  Everybody's  Magazine, 


94    WILD    LIFE   AND    THE   CAMERA 

white,  and  grey,  that  perched  here  and  there  on 
the  twigs  until  he  came  to  his  mate.  They  were 
as  alike  as  two  peas  in  a  pod,  yet  from  their  actions 
one  could  tell,  without  question,  which  was  which. 
The  one  demanded  instant  waiting  on  and 
attention  ;  that  was  Mrs.  Chicadee.  The  other 
attended  to  her  every  want,  and  this  was  Mr. 
Chicadee.  They  had  evidently  been  mated  for  but  a 
short  time,  for  as  yet  no  nest  had  been  built,  but 
then  the  year  was  young  and  there  was  ample  time, 
so  why  hurry  ?  Already  other  birds  had  young, 
some  were  even  building  their  second  nest,  but  were 
they  any  better  off  for  all  that  hurry  ?  Some  had 
had  their  nests  destroyed  by  the  frequent  rains,  and 
the  chicadees,  perhaps,  wondered  why  these  birds 
persisted  in  building  their  nests  on  the  ground  when 
the  woods  were  full  of  trees  in  which  holes  of  almost 
any  size  might  be  found ;  and  was  not  a  hole  in  a 
tree  a  much  safer  and  more  comfortable  place  for  a 
home  than  a  nest  on  the  ground,  no  matter  how 
well  it  might  be  built  ?  So  thought  the  chicadees 
as  they  busied  themselves  hunting  among  the 
many  partly  decayed  birch  trees,  searching  for  a 
suitable  hole.  At  last  one  was  found  that  appeared 
to  answer  all  the  requirements  of  our  house- 
hunting couple.  Perhaps  it  had  not  "  all  modern 
improvements,"  but  what  care  birds  for  such  things  ? 
Enough  that  the  entrance  was  of  the  proper  size 
(about  two  and  a  half  inches  in  diameter)  and  inside, 
with  a  very  little  excavating,  there  would  be  room 
for  the  expected  family  of  seven.  The  hole  was 
rather  deep,  running  down  from  the  entrance 
nearly  eighteen  inches,  but  by  the  time  the  nest 


MY   CHICADEE   FRIENDS  95 

was  built  it  would  be  about  right.  Also  the  stump 
was  a  trifle  low,  being  not  more  than  four  and  a 
half  feet  high,  but  it  is  better  not  to  be  too 
particular :  he  who  would  search  until  he  finds 
perfection  dies  while  he  is  yet  searching. 

As  a  rule  no  bird  likes  to  build  its  nest  while  a 
human  being  looks  on,  for  well  do  they  know  by 
past  experience,  that  is  but  too  sad,  what  danger 
lurks  in  the  human  form.  How  many  tales  of 
desolation  and  misery  could  they  tell  if  speech  was 
in  their  power  ;  tales  of  hopes  blasted  at  the  moment 
when  all  seemed  most  promising,  of  wholesale  death, 
of  entire  families  wiped  out  by  the  thoughtless  act  of 
some  human  creature.  Surely  is  it  safer  to  have  little 
trust  and  faith  in  both  man  and  beast.  The  man 
will  destroy  without  object  or  reason,  while  the  beast 
at  least  has  the  excuse  that  he  does  so  for  food  !  It 
was,  therefore,  a  surprise  to  me  when  Chicadee  and 
his  mate  began  their  building  operations.  After 
hopping  about  on  the  thinly-leaved  bushes,  and 
occasionally  coming  within  a  few  feet  of  my  head, 
always  replying  to  the  call  note  that  I  whistled 
by  way  of  an  introduction,  they  set  to  work. 

"  Dee-dee  "  I  had  called,  and  "  chicadee-dee-dee  " 
was  the  answer. 

So  we  were  introduced,  and  they  might  now  get 
to  work,  for  there  was  much  to  be  done  and  only  four 
short  days  before  the  first  egg  would  be  laid,  and  a 
fitting  nest  must  at  all  costs  be  made  ready.  The 
sky  was  clouding  over  and  there  was  the  possibility 
of  rain,  which  would  delay  the  nest-building,  as  by 
making  the  materials  wet  it  would  unfit  them  for  a 
Chicadee's  nest,  that  should  above  all  things  be 


96     WILD   LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

dry.  So  the  pair  began  work,  and  to  watch  them 
was  a  pleasure  that  cannot  be  expressed  in  words. 
Such  devotion,  such  patience,  such  untiring  energy, 
and  withal  such  intelligence,  would  have  com- 
manded the  respect  and  attention  of  even  the  most 
cold-hearted  and  indifferent  person  who  claims 
to  care  for  nothing  in  nature  besides  man  arid 
his  works.  Many  birds  have  I  had  the  good 
fortune  to  watch  during  their  nest  building,  some- 
times surreptitiously  and  sometimes  openly,  but 
never  was  I  impressed  as  I  was  by  the  Chicadees. 

Evidently  moss  was  considered  a  most  excellent 
material  with  which  to  lay  the  foundation  of  the 
nest.  So  Dee-dee,  as  I  call  Mrs.  Chicadee  (for  it 
was  in  that  way  she  so  often  replied  to  her  mate), 
flew  to  the  foot  of  a  partly  dead  maple  tree,  whose 
exposed  roots  were  well  covered  with  a  thick  coat 
of  short,  curly  and  nearly  dry  moss.  Then  with 
her  entire  energy  and  strength  she  commenced 
gathering  pieces  of  the  moss  in  her  tiny  beak. 
When  she  had  as  much  as  she  could  carry,  she  flew 
to  the  nest  hole,  and,  without  hesitation,  dis- 
appeared through  the  entrance,  to  reappear  after  a 
few  moments,  when  she  flew  directly  to  the  moss- 
covered  roots  and  once  more  began  gathering 
material.  Just  then  Chicadee  (her  mate) ,  who  had 
been  absent  for  some  minutes,  arrived,  carrying  in  his 
beak  a  small  greenish  caterpillar.  Seeing  his  mate  he 
called,  "  Chicadee,  chicadee-dee-dee."  "  Dee-dee," 
in  the  softest  of  tones,  came  from  the  bird  at  the 
foot  of  the  partly  dead  maple,  and  he  flew  down 
to  tell  her  that  he  had  brought  food.  She  already 
had  several  tufts  of  moss  in  her  beak,  and  could  not 


MY  CHICADEE   FRIENDS  97 

therefore  accept  the  proffered  morsel,  rather  must 
she  continue  her  work,  for  the  clouds  were  gathering 
in  dark  masses  that  promised  at  least  a  heavy 
shower  when  her  moss -gathering  must  cease.  In 
vain  did  Chicadee  coax  ;  it  was  all  to  no  purpose  ! 
she  must  work.  Her  beak  full,  she  flew  to  the  nest, 
remained  there  as  before  a  few  minutes  and  then 
reappeared.  This  was  Chicadee's  opportunity,  and 
he  hurried  to  her  before  she  had  a  chance  to  gather 
any  more  of  the  much  desired  moss.  With  the 
most  delicate  manner  imaginable  he  once  more 
offered  the  dainty  morsel,  and  she  accepted  it  with 
a  graceful  flutter,  just  as  a  young  girl  might  on 
accepting  a  gift  from  her  lover. 

So  many  writers  and  others  criticise  in  a  severe 
manner  the  growing  tendency  towards  seeing,  or 
making  believe  to  see,  habits  in  birds  that  bear  re- 
semblance to  our  own.  In  other  words,  they  object 
to  what  they  call  the  human  side  of  birds.  They 
consider  the  claim  for  it  absurd,  without  foundation, 
and  existing  only  in  minds  inclined  towards  senti- 
mentality. That  the  tendency  may,  like  all  tenden- 
cies, be  carried  too  far,  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason, 
is  quite  true,  but,  Mr.  Critic,  have  you  ever  observed 
birds,  whether  at  large  or  in  captivity  ?  If  so,  you 
must  surely  have  little  powers  of  observation,  or 
perhaps  you  see  through  the  spectacles  of  prejudice, 
for  otherwise  you  could  scarcely  fail  to  find  in  birds 
counterparts  of  both  our  faults  and  our  better 
qualities.  Jealousy  is  nearly  as  strong  in  birds  as 
it  is  with  us,  and  we  find  it  shown  in  exactly  the 
same  ways.  Anger,  good-nature,  suspicion,  confi- 
dence, constancy,  inconstancy,  hatred,  love,  selfish- 

WrL.C.  H 


98     WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

ness,  generosity,  all  these  we  see  in  the  most 
humble  of  birds.  There  are,  in  fact,  but  few  traits 
in  man's  character  that  have  not  their  counterpart 
in  birds,  and  yet  you  object  to  what  you  term  with 
derision  "  the  human  side  of  birds." 

Watch  birds  during  the  spring  season,  and  see 
how  the  male  bird  tries  by  every  way  in  his  power  to 
make  himself  attractive  to  the  object  of  his  affec- 
tions. If  occasion  demands — and  frequently  he 
will  search  diligently  for  an  occasion — he  deems  it 
his  duty  to  fight,  and  thus  show  off  his  superior 
power  and  strength,  just  as  in  the  days  gone  by, 
men,  dressed  in  all  the  finery  of  knighthood,  threw 
down  the  glove  and  fought  for  the  maid,  whose 
hand  they  hoped  to  win.  Watch  the  male  bird's 
gentleness  and  gallantry  as  he  offers  his  partner 
any  chance  tit-bit  that  he  may  find,  and  notice  well 
that  seldom,  if  ever,  does  the  one  of  the  gentler 
sex  make  any  advance.  Perhaps  you  may  call 
attention  to  the  fact  that,  with  birds  as  with 
animals,  it  is  the  male  that  has  the  greater  beauty. 
It  is  he  who  makes  the  show  and  display.  Quite 
true,  but  it  is  not  so  very  long  ago  that  with  the 
human  race  it  was  the  man  who  used  to  adorn  his 
person  and  endeavour  to  make  himself  an  object  of 
beauty,  and  the  woman  that  lacked  the  adornments. 
You  will  still  find  it  so  among  some  of  the  bar- 
barous tribes.  There  must  be  reason  for  the  male 
bird  having  the  fine  colours ;  were  the  female  as 
conspicuous  as  the  male  she  would  be  in  greater 
danger  from  her  enemies,  especially  during  the 
period  of  incubation.  This  alone  would  be  suffi- 
cient reason  for  her  more  quiet  dress.  But  to 


MY   CHICADEE   FRIENDS  99 

return  to  our  Chicadees.  No  sooner  had  Dee-dee 
swallowed  the  morsel  of  food  and  wiped  her  beak 
on  a  twig,  than  she  began  again  to  gather  moss, 
while  her  attentive  mate,  after  watching  her  in  an 
admiring  way  for  a  few  seconds,  flew  off  in  search 
of  further  dainties  for  her  who  worked  so  hard. 
Throughout  the  two  hours  or  more  before  the  rain 
came  he  would  continually  bring  caterpillars  and 
other  delicacies  and,  when  he  found  her  busy, 
would  with  admirable  patience  wait  near  by  until 
she  was  at  liberty  to  accept  them.  Never  once  did 
he  eat  the  food,  even  though  at  times  she  kept  him 
waiting  as  much  as  five  minutes  while  she  gathered 
moss  and  arranged  it  to  her  satisfaction  in  the  dark 
hollow  of  the  stump. 

At  the  end  of  these  two  hours,  large  drops  of  rain 
fell,  gently  at  first,  then  gradually  faster  and  faster, 
until  from  each  green  leaf  the  drops  hung  like  clear 
round  crystals,  that  were  shaken  off  whenever  the 
cooling  breezes  passed  by  and  moved  the  gem-laden 
branches.  It  was  no  time  for  nest  building,  and 
Chicadee  and  his  mate  flew  off  among  the  trees  and 
were  immediately  lost  to  view.  The  next  day  was 
bright  and  clear  after  the  rain,  and  the  Chicadees 
had  resumed  their  interrupted  labour  long  before  1 
arrived.  More  moss  had  been  gathered  and  placed 
in  the  hollow  of  the  decayed  birch  stump,  and  on 
the  top  of  the  moss  was  placed  a  thick  layer  of  a 
strange  material,  nothing  less  than  the  silver  grey 
hair  of  the  'possum,*  stolen,  no  doubt,  from  some 

*  All  the  chicadees'  nests  that  I  found  in  this  locality  (South 
Orange,  N.J.)  contained  quantities  of  opossum  hair.  It  is  curious, 
because  'possums  are  by  no  means  common  in  the  vicinity. 

H  2 


100  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

mother  'possum's  nest  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree  or 
among  the  rocks.  Wherever  obtained,  it  seemed 
to  be  exactly  what  Mrs.  Chicadee  wanted,  judging 
from  the  number  of  loads  she  had  brought. 

In  all  it  took  four  days  to  build  the  Chicadee's 
nest,  and  when  completed  it  was  the  softest  and 
coziest  of  homes.  Some  sheep's  wool  and  some 
soft,  silky  plant-down  had  been  used  with  which  to 
finish  it.  It  was  a  suitable  receptacle  for  the  tiny, 
speckled,  pinky  eggs  that  were  placed  in  it,  seven  of 
them  being  hidden  in  the  soft  bed  of  wool  and 
down.  On  these  the  old  birds  sat  by  day  and  by 
night,  seldom  absenting  themselves  from  the  self- 
imposed  task  that  must  at  best  have  been  tedious. 
Whenever  I  visited  Dee-dee  as  she  sat  in  the  dark 
obscurity  of  the  hollow  stump,  she  would  look  up 
in  an  inquiring  way,  her  whole  appearance  seeming 
to  beg  that  I  should  not  disturb  or  injure  her.  Was 
she  not,  in  the  performance  of  her  duty,  carrying  out 
the  great  law  of  the  propagation  of  species  ?  Know- 
ing full  well  how  helpless  she  was,  penned  up  in 
the  partly  decayed  stump,  she  placed  herself  and 
her  precious  eggs  entirely  at  my  mercy.  Needless 
to  say  she  was  not  disturbed  in  any  way.  On 
holidays,  when  thoughtless  boys  roamed  the  wood, 
bent  only  on  having  what  they  considered  "  a  good 
time,"  sparing  nothing  that  came  their  way,  I 
would  stay  within  sight  of  the  Chicadee's  nest  to 
see  that  no  harm  should  come  to  it.  No  boys 
would  have  been  likely  to  discover  the  nest,  simply 
because  they  would  think  it  improbable  that  any 
bird  would  build  in  such  a  decayed,  fungus-covered 
stump,  but  in  passing  they  might  have  pushed 


MY  CHICADEE   FRIENDS          101 

against  it,  and  that  would  have  been  the  end  of  one 
brood  of  these  cheerful  little  acrobats  of  the 
summer  and  winter  woods,  and  by  just  so  much 
would  the  world  have  been  the  poorer. 

Days  passed.  Days  of  sunshine  and  days  of 
showers,  all  helping  in  the  fulfilment  of  the 
promises  of  spring.  The  trees  became  more  thickly 
covered  with  leaves,  and  on  the  ground  the  dead 
leaves  were  almost  hidden  by  the  new  growth  that 
was  daily  becoming  more  abundant.  The  earliest 
flowers  had  come  and  gone,  and  in  their  place  were 
the  drying  seeds,  on  which  the  flowers  must  depend 
for  their  continuance.  Another  year  must  we  wait 
before  the  many-hued  hepatica,  the  snow-white 
blood  root  and  the  nodding  yellow  bells  of  the 
adder-tongue  would  again  grace  the  woods.  The 
violets  were  now  flowering  in  all  the  glory  of  .their 
royal  colours,  and  here  and  there  might 'yet  be 
found  clusters  of  pink  azalea  scenting  the  Sviobfis 
with  their  delicious  perfume.  In  the  damp,  woody 
swamps  the  fragrant  clammy  azalea  was  just  about 
to  burst  into  bloom,  to  give  the  summer  foliage 
the  appearance  of  having  received  a  slight  fall  of 
snow,  so  white  were  its  flowers.  Birds  were  busy 
carrying  food  to  their  different  broods,  pausing 
between  whiles  to  sing  each  one  its  own  particular 
song  of  exultation,  from  the  soul-stirring  chant  of 
the  wood-thrush  to  the  jerky  notes  of  the  red-eyed 
vireo  ;  each  doing  what  lay  in  his  power  to  ring  up 
the  echoes  of  the  summer  woods. 

Among  all  the  songs  the  small  but  exquisite  note 
of  the  Chicadees  sounded  as  they  searched  dili- 
gently among  the  leaves  for  food.  A  newly-arrived 


102  WILD   LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

brood  had  at  last  rewarded  their  long  patience. 
Backwards  and  forwards  flew  these  devoted  parents, 
giving  no  heed  to  anything  save  feeding  and  watch- 
ing over  their  young.  What  else  was  there  to  think 
of?  For  nearly  a  month  they  would  do  nothing  else. 
All  would  be  devoted  to  the  rearing  of  their  off- 
spring ;  everything  sacrificed,  and  apparently  with 
pleasure,  too,  to  their  welfare. 

The  young  Chicadees  grew  apace  as  is  the  habit 
of  young  birds.  From  tiny  grey  atoms,  large- 
headed,  blind  and  naked,  having  in  them  but  the  one 
instinct — that  of  raising  their  heads  at  the  slightest 
sound  and  opening  their  mouths  for  the  frequent 
meals,  they  gradually  turned  into  small,  open-eyed, 
down-covered  balls  of  fat.  Then  pin  feathers  began 
to  cover  their  growing  bodies  in  lines  that  ran 
lengthways,  leaving  bare  places  between.  Then 
the  pin  feathers  opened,  and  from  them  emerged 
tte  soft. young  feathers.  Hour  by  hour  showed  the 
covering  up  of  the  bare  places  by  the  spreading  of 
the  feathers  ;  and  the  small  bodies  were  clothed. 

The  young  birds  were  growing  very  large  for  the 
snug  nest  and  without  doubt  must  soon  be  thinking 
of  seeking  the  wide  world,  where  there  was  room 
and  to  spare.  Day  by  day  I  had  watched  them  as 
they  grew,  and  my  watching  was  very  nearly  the 
cause  of  a  most  unfortunate  accident.  In  my 
endeavours  to  see  inside  the  nest  I,  quite  uninten- 
tionally, broke  off  a  large  piece  of  the  decayed  bark, 
thereby  exposing  the  nest  and  its  valuable  contents, 
very  much  to  my  own  and  the  Chicadees'  disgust. 
Loudly  did  they  express  their  feelings  as  they  flew 
about  my  head.  Evidently  they  expected  to  see 


MY  CHICADEE  FRIENDS         103 

me  devour  their  entire  brood.  To  mend  the  nest 
was  the  next  step.  It  was  easily  accomplished, 
for  all  the  necessary  materials  were  close  at  hand. 
A  large  piece  of  birch  bark  was  peeled  from  a 
tree  that  had  been  blown  down  during  a  recent  gale. 
This  I  put  on  the  stump,  sleeve-fashion,  lacing  it, 
on  the  side  furthest  from  the  opening,  with  a  piece 
of  wild  smilax  vine.  After  cutting  a  hole  in  the 
birch  bark  patch  and  inserting  a  few  broken  twigs 
here  and  there,  and  generally  making  the  new 
patch  look  as  much  as  possible  like  the  bark  on  the 
decayed  stump,  I  retreated  to  a  little  distance  that 
I  might  watch  the  effect.  There  was,  however, 
but  little  to  watch.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chicadee, 
first  one  and  then  the  other,  entered  the  repaired 
nest  after  only  a  casual  glance.  Evidently  they 
had  no  objection  to  the  change,  and  so  once  more 
things  went  on  as  usual,  though  it  was  only  for  a 
few  more  days  ;  the  time  was  drawing  near  when  I 
was  to  prove  whether  or  not  I  had  gained  the 
confidence  of  my  Chicadee  friends. 

The  day  came  at  last,  a  fine,  bright,  sunny  day, 
though  intensely  hot,  and  the  young  birds  were  to 
make  their  bow  to  the  great  world.  I  had  brought 
with  me  all  the  necessary  photographic  paraphernalia 
with  the  hope  and  expectation  of  obtaining  portraits 
of  the  Chicadee  family.  Hitherto  I  had  only  secured 
photographs  of  the  parent  birds  going  in  and  out  of 
their  nest,  and  these,  though  interesting,  were  as 
nothing  compared  with  what  I  imagined  I  should 
get.  It  is  well  to  be  sanguine,  to  hope  for  things 
that  never  will  be,  for  otherwise  even  our  greatest 
enthusiasm  would  be  short-lived  and  our  successes 


104  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

would  be  even  fewer  than  they  are  now — so  my  hopes 
were  placed  on  the  topmost  rung  of  the  ladder. 

Chicadee  and  his  mate  were  both  present  when  I 
unfastened  the  birch  bark  sleeve  that  I  might  see  if 
the  youngsters  were,  as  I  fully  believed,  ready  to 
leave  their  warm  nest.  Not  for  long  was  I  left  in 
doubt.  As  I  placed  my  finger  gently  beneath  one 
of  the  small  living  balls  of  fluff  there  was  a  quick 
movement,  a  fluttering  of  small  untried  wings,  and 
seven  tiny  Chicadees  were  instantly  scattered 
among  the  surrounding  bushes.  Such  an  excite- 
ment as  there  was  !  "  Chicadee  !  Chicadee  !  Chica- 
dee-dee-dee  !  "  called  the  parent  birds  as  they  flew 
backward  and  forward,  up  and  down,  from  bush  to 
bush,  from  twig  to  twig,  up  in  the  trees,  then  down 
on  the  ground,  urging  the  young  birds  to  greater 
efforts,  helping  the  weaker  with  emphatic  bird- 
words  of  advice.  All  was  confusion.  All  the  birds 
in  the  neighbourhood  arrived,  each  one  willing  but 
powerless  to  offer  any  assistance.  The  yellow- 
breasted  chat,  whose  nest  was  in  the  huckleberry 
bush  near  by,  let  her  young  go  hungry  for  a  time, 
while  she  came  carrying  their  meal  in  her  beak, 
adding  her  cries  to  the  many  that  filled  the  air. 
From  all  sides  could  be  heard  the  distressed  calls  of 
the  birds  ;  vireos,  cat-birds,  tanagers,  warblers  of 
many  kinds,  blue-jays,  wood-thrushes  and  many 
others,  each  one  excited  and  trying  to  outdo  his 
neighbour  in  vocal  remonstrance.  Suddenly,  and 
with  no  apparent  reason,  the  Chicadees  quieted 
down,  when  immediately  all  the  other  birds  became 
silent,  and  one  by  one  returned  to  their  homes  and 
their  duties. 


MY  CHICADEE   FRIENDS          105 

Now  it  was  that  my  work  began.  In  vain  had 
I  attempted  to  follow  the  various  courses  of  the 
fledgelings,  but  nature  had  allowed  me  only  two 
eyes,  a  number  quite  insufficient  to  keep  up  with 
the  vagaries  of  seven  Chicadees,  young  and  inex- 
perienced though  they  were.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  institute  a  long  and  careful  search,  a 
test  of  patience  against  instinct,  the  former  gaining 
the  day,  for  in  about  an  hour  I  found  all  of  the  seven 
youngsters.  It  is  curious  that,  once  found,  these 
Chicadees  no  longer  seem  to  entertain  that  keen 
desire  to  get  away  which  characterises  most  young 
birds  under  similar  conditions.  On  the  contrary, 
they  behaved  most  admirably,  being  quite  content 
to  sit  on  my  hand  or  on  any  branch  I  might  select, 
provided  only  they  were  shaded  from  the  fierce 
glare  of  the  sun ;  and  just  here  lay  my  greatest 
difficulty,  for  instantaneous  photographs  are  not 
made  in  the  shade,  and  the  movement  of  birds  is 
so  rapid  that  one  twenty-fifth  of  a  second  is  about 
as  much  exposure  as  one  may  safely  indulge  in. 
This  means  that  the  subject  must  be  well  lighted, 
a  condition  which  my  little  Chicadees  thoroughly 
objected  to.  If  I  placed  them,  one  or  all,  on  my 
knee,  and  my  knee  happened  to  be  in  the  sunlight, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  they  would  scramble 
to  the  nearest  shade,  even  should  it  be  but  a  fold  in 
my  clothes. 

Both  Dee-dee  and  Chicadee  seemed  somewhat 
astonished  to  see  their  young  ones  sitting  so  com- 
placently on  my  knee,  and  doubtless  they  wondered 
what  next  would  happen.  So  far  they  had  seen  no 
reason  to  fear  me,  for  I  had  done  them  no  harm, 


106  WILD   LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

but  now  that  I  had  their  young  so  clearly  in  my 
power  it  might  be  different ;  at  any  rate,  they  were 
determined  to  watch  me,  and  for  this  purpose  they 
stayed  very  near,  calling  occasionally  "  Chicadee, 
chicadee-dee-dee,"  to  which  the  youngsters  in  quaint 
imitation  would  reply,  but  "  Chica-chica-dee  " — or 
about  as  near  as  they  could  get  to  it — seemed 
to  please  the  old  birds.  It  required  some  time  to 
prepare  for  the  photographic  work,  but  at  last, 
everything  being  ready,  I  had  only  to  wait  for  the 
parent  Chicadees  (who  by  this  time  had  become  quite 
used  to  the  very  novel  situation)  to  come  on  to  my 
knee,  for  that  was  the  sort  of  picture  I  wished.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  I  was  surprised  to  find  how 
little  coaxing  was  required.  Only  one  call  from 
the  young,  and  Dee-dee  replied  in  person  by 
coming  on  to  my  knee,  where  her  children  were 
bunched  together,  just  as  though  it  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  for  her  to  do.  She 
brought  no  food  with  her,  however,  so  the  seven 
youngsters  fluttered,  chirped,  and  opened  their 
yellow-lined  mouths  in  vain.  Evidently  Dee-dee 
came  with  the  single  idea  of  satisfying  herself  of 
their  complete  safety ;  this  being  assured,  she  flew 
away  to  receive  from  her  mate  a  caterpillar  of  that 
kind  commonly  known  as  the  inch  worm.  This  she 
prepared  by  eating  both  the  ends,  which  are  armed 
with  feet.  Scarcely  a  minute  being  required  for  this, 
she  came  directly  to  the  impatient  brood  still  wonder- 
ing in  expressive  tones  at  the  unusual  delay  of  their 
meal-time.  Perching  on  my  knee,  she  singled  out 
one  of  the  seven,  apparently  without  any  particular 
reason,  while  the  remaining  six  looked  on  with 


MY   CHICADEE   FRIENDS         107 

quaintly  dismal  and  dejected  expressions.  To 
silence  and  satisfy  the  entire  brood  seemed  now 
the  one  thing  necessary,  a  fact  which  appeared 
to  be  thoroughly  appreciated  by  both  the  old 
birds,  for  they  worked  as  though  their  lives  de- 
pended on  it.  Over  and  under  each  branch  they 
climbed,  examining  both  sides  of  every  leaf,  and 
woe  to  the  caterpillar  or  spider  that  tried  to  hide 
from  their  bead-like  eyes,  for  instantly  he  was 
seized  and  brought  to  appease  the  young  hungries, 
until,  one  at  a  time,  they  were  all  filled  and  asleep, 
for  with  young  birds  sleep  follows  food  just  as 
surely  as  summer  follows  spring. 

I  had  secured  several  photographs  of  the  family 
on  my  knee,  and  now  I  wanted  some  that  would 
show  them  on  my  hand,  so  after  allowing  my 
young  charges  ten  minutes'  sleep  I  began  by 
placing  one  of  them  on  my  hand,  at  the  same 
time  holding  the  bulb  (that  released  the  shutter  of 
the  lens)  in  the  same  hand,  but  before  I  could  pick 
up  a  second  fledgeling,  Mrs.  Chicadee  came,  with- 
out food,  and  perched  on  the  nozzle  of  the  bulb,  so, 
not  wishing  to  lose  the  opportunity,  I  pressed  the 
bulb  and  secured  a  photograph  of  the  unique 
situation. 

So  far  neither  of  the  parent  birds  had  actually 
perched  on  my  hand,  but  judging  from  their  former 
behaviour  I  felt  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  they 
would  do  so.  Dee -dee,  seeing  that  the  little  one 
sitting  on  my  finger  was  in  that  chronic  state  of 
hunger  so  peculiar  to  young  birds,  left  with  the 
evident  intention  of  finding  something  with  which 
to  satisfy  him.  Chicadee  had,  however,  anticipated 


108  WILD  LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

her,  and  brought  an  insect  suited  to  the  needs  of  a 
fledgeling.  Dee-dee  approached  him,  fluttering 
her  partly  closed  wings  just  as  the  fledgelings  did 
when  they  wanted  food.*  She  was  evidently 
begging  the  food  from  him,  and  he,  being  of  an 
unselfish  turn  of  mind,  gave  it  to  her  with  a  flutter 
and  a  soft  note  which  seemed  to  say,  "It  is  yours, 
do  what  you  wish  with  it,"  and  he  followed  her 
almost  to  my  hand,  as  she  came  flying  in  response 
to  the  calls  of  the  handful  of  fledgelings.  Seeing 
her  approach,  each  one  struggled  to  be  nearest  to 
the  promised  morsel.  Just  before  she  perched  on 
my  hand,  I  pressed  the  bulb  with  the  result  shown 
in  illustration.  Having  delivered  herself  of  the  food 
to  the  great  satisfaction  of  only  one  of  the  young- 
sters, she  stood  still  a  moment  and  looked  up  at 
me  with  a  quizzical  expression,  and  then  flew  off. 
Scarcely  had  I  changed  the  plate  in  the  camera 
when  she  came  back  again  and  remained  on  my 
hand  for  some  time.  After  having  once  come  to 
me,  and  finding  nothing  to  fear,  she  came  often,  and 
so  did  Chicadee.  Sometimes  they  sat  together  on 
my  shoulder  or  my  hat,  and  whether  I  moved  about 
or  remained  quiet  made  no  difference  to  them. 

Sitting  there  in  the  clearing  that  adjoined  the 
woods  in  which  was  the  nest  of  this  interesting 
family  of  Chicadees  ;  surrounded  by  sweet-scented 
myrtle  and  the  huckleberries,  whose  tiny  green 
fruit  was  hanging  in  small  clusters  ;  at  my  feet  the 
exquisite  waxlike  balls  of  the  stagger  bush,  than 
which  there  are  few  more  dainty  or  beautiful  flowers, 

*  This  is  a  rather  peculiar  habit  of  the  adult  chicadee,  which 
may  be  noticed  during  the  spring  and  summer  months. — A.  R.  D. 


Chicadee  flying  to  my  hand,  in  which  sit  the  "Hungry* Brood. 


MY  CHICADEE   FRIENDS         109 

I  thought  that  for  once  at  least  I  must  be  fairly 
close  to  nature  in  one  of  its  happiest  moods,  and 
in  all  the  splendour  of  the  fullness  of  summer.  For 
there  were  birds,  both  young  and  old,  trusting  me 
with  confidence,  the  old  ones  flying  about  as  though 
thoroughly  agreeing  to  this  strange  friendship;  now 
on  my  hand,  now  on  my  shoulder,  sitting  so  close 
to  my  face  that  I  could  with  my  cheek  stroke  both 
Chicadee  and  his  confiding  mate.  Their  soft  feathers 
against  my  skin,  and  their  small  warm  feet  on  my 
fingers  gave  a  thrill  that  went  through  my  system, 
leaving  a  glow  of  pleasure  such  as  one  seldom  has 
the  good  fortune  to  experience. 

What  was  it  that  gave  this  pleasure  ?  Only  the 
immediate  presence  of  some  very  small  birds,  birds 
that  so  many  people  know  not  even  by  name. 
What  was  there  in  this  to  give  that  strange  thrill  ? 
Each  time  a  bird  comes  to  me  of  its  own  accord  I 
feel  it,  and  am  repaid  a  hundredfold  for  any  hard- 
ships I  may  have  encountered  in  trying  to  make 
them  realise  my  friendly  intentions.  At  first,  as 
a  bird  comes  near,  inquiry  showing  in  its  every 
move,  one's  heart  throbs  with  the  great  pleasure 
of  anticipation,  that  pleasure  which  is  so  often  the 
end  of  our  dearest  hopes.  Nearer  and  nearer  comes 
our  would-be  friend,  and  harder  and  harder  does 
the  heart  beat,  until  we  dread  that  its  throbbing 
may  frighten  away  the  bird,  and  we  hold  the 
breath  and  wish  the  heart  would  make  less  noise. 
There  is  a  choking  sensation  in  the  throat,  such  as 
one  feels  when  listening  to  beautiful  music,  as  the 
bird  finally  comes  on  one's  hand,  and  the  realisation 
of  a  thing  accomplished  seems  to  release  the  heart, 


110  WILD  LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

and  breath  comes  freely.     The  bird  has  touched 
one's  hand  and — well,  what  more  is  needed  ? 

The  day  had  been  a  fortunate  one,  and  one  that  I 
would  always  remember  with  the  greatest  pleasure, 
for  it  had  seen  the  culmination  of  the  most  delight- 
ful friendship  I  have  ever  had  with  any  birds,  and 
besides  that  I  had  secured  some  interesting  photo- 
graphs that  would  prove  to  my  sceptical  friends 
how  tame  the  birds  had  become. 

Before  leaving  the  Chicadees  I  had  replaced  the 
youngsters  in  their  nest,  in  the  hopes  of  finding 
them  there  on  the  following  day.     How  long  they 
remained   in  their  comfortable   quarters   I   never 
knew,  for  early  next  morning  when  I  visited  the 
nest  it  was   empty.      Was   it  possible   that  any 
accident  had  happened  to  them  ?     If  so,  perhaps 
I  was  to  blame.      While  thinking  this  over  and 
regretting  having   fallen  into   the  temptation   of 
making  friends  with  these  birds  a  small  clear  voice 
from   a  tree  near  by   called  "  Chicadee-chicadee- 
dee-dee,"  and  there  was  one  of  the  old  birds,  and 
with  her  on  the  same  branch  sat  two  of  the  young 
ones ;  that  the  others  were  not  far  off  I  felt  sure, 
and  a  little  searching  soon  discovered  them.     They 
were  all  safe  and  very  busy,  for  they  had  much  to 
learn,  and  I  watched  them  during  many  hours  as 
they  climbed  among  the  branches,  learning  from 
their  parents  all  the  acrobatic  feats  of  their  kind, 
but  eating  nothing  except  what  was  given  them. 
It  would  be  a  couple  of  weeks  or  more  before  they 
fed  themselves,  and  long  before  that   time  they 
would  be  full  grown  and  exact  counterparts  of  their 
parents.     Judging  from  the  fact  that  Chicadees  are 


One  of  the  Youno;  Chicadees. 


MY  CHICADEE   FRIENDS          111 

so  often  found  in  small  flocks  of  seven  or  eight,  it 
seems  more  than  likely  that  each  family  remains 
united  until  the  approach  of  spring  and  the  nesting 
season. 

The  last  I  saw  of  my  Chicadee  friends  was 
towards  the  end  of  summer,  when  the  glory  of  the 
year  was  passing.  The  leaves  on  the  trees  had  lost 
their  fresh  green  colour,  and  most  of  the  plants  had 
finished  growing.  Insects  were  searching  for  places 
where  they  might  safely  hide  their  eggs  until  the 
following  spring  should  come,  and  the  Chicadees,  as 
they  hunted  for  these  insects  and  their  eggs,  were 
doing  their  part  in  the  great  order  of  the  things  of 
nature. 


THE    WARBLER    FAMILY 


W.L.C. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE   WARBLER   FAMILY 

A  hitherto  only  partly  published  account  of  my  first  intimate  friendship 
with  a  wild  bird ;  the  photographs  being  probably  the  first  ever  made 
showing  the  extreme  tameness  of  these  shy  birds  (1900). 

To  form  a  friendship  with  any  bird,  no  matter 
how  common  a  bird  it  happens  to  be,  is  a  privilege 
that  unfortunately  but  few  of  us  human  beings 
enjoy.  But  when  the  object  of  one's  friendship  is  a 
bird  that  may  be  considered  rare,  that  is  unknown 
except  to  the  comparatively  few  who  are  directly 
interested  in  bird  life,  the  privilege  is  greater  and 
therefore  much  more  to  be  appreciated.  So  it  was 
with  my  little  friends  the  pair  of  worm-eating 
warblers  (can  we  pardon  science  for  having  bestowed 
such  a  name  on  this  graceful  bird  ?),  who,  with  their 
family  of  four,  lived  not  more  than  a  few  hundred 
yards  from  our  home.  It  was  entirely  by  chance, 
as  is  usual,  they  say,  with  important  discoveries, 
that  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  these  birds. 
They  have  no  song  with  which  to  fill  the  wood- 
lands and  attract  the  attention  of  the  casual  passer- 
by, only  a  chirp  that  is  no  louder  than  that  of  the 
grasshopper;  in  fact,  it  might  easily  be  mistaken 
for  that  insect's  peculiar  note.  Neither  are  they 
arrayed  in  "crimson  and  gold."  Their  dress  is 
quiet  and  inconspicuous,  yet  delicate  and  beautiful 
in  the  extreme :  olive-green  back,  buff- coloured 
breast,  while  the  head  is  light  buff  with  very  dark 
stripes.  Is  it  to  be  wondered,  then,  that  a  bird  of 

i  2 


116  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA. 

such  subdued  colouring  and  quiet  habits  should  be 
practically  unknown  ?  The  way  I  chanced  to  find 
them  was  this : 

While  walking  slowly  through  the  woods  I  heard 
the  note  of  a  downy  woodpecker.  The  note  was 
repeated  with  such  frequency  that  I  half  suspected 
a  brood  of  young  were  starting  out  on  their  life  of 
tree-climbing.  On  the  chance  of  seeing  so  interest- 
ing a  sight  I  made  my  way  quietly  through  the 
underbrush  with  which  tjie  hillside  was  covered. 
As  I  came  near  to  where  the  woodpeckers  kept  up 
their  steady  calling,  my  attention  was  arrested  by 
a  lisping  note  repeated  at  regular  intervals ;  that 
it  was  the  alarm  note  of  a  warbler  I  had  no  doubt, 
and  I  determined  to  discover  which  one  of  that 
large  and  varied  family  it  might  be. 

The  heavy  foliage  of  the  trees  served  well  to  hide 
so  small  a  bird  from  view,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  I  finally  detected  a  worm -eating  warbler 
perched  on  a  branch  within  a  few  feet  of  my  head. 
From  his  manner,  which  showed  great  excitement, 
I  judged  that  either  there  was  a  nest  near  by  or 
that  some  youngsters  were  hiding  in  the  underbrush 
at  no  great  distance.  So,  removing  my  evidently 
unwelcome  presence  to  a  point  of  vantage,  I  quietly 
observed  the  behaviour  of  these  uncommon  birds. 
After  watching  for  a  short  time,  another  bird 
appeared,  evidently  the  mate  of  the  one  I  had 
seen.  The  two  consulted  together,  and  after  a  few 
more  chirps  one  began  descending,  hopping  from 
branch  to  branch,  each  time  getting  nearer  to  the 
ground,  then  suddenly  she  dropped  among  the 
weeds  and  was  hidden  from  view. 


THE   WARBLER    FAMILY          117 

Carefully  marking  the  place,  I  hastened  towards 
it,  but  scarcely  had  1  taken  half  a  dozen  steps  when 
up  she  flew,  and  once  more  gave  voice  to  the  note 
of  alarm.  Thinking  that  of  course  I  should  ex- 
perience not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  finding  the 
nest,  for  that  there  was  one  I  felt  convinced,  I 
went  straight  to  the  place  from  which  she  had 
flown,  but  no  nest  was  there — at  least  I  could  find 
none — so  once  more  I  retired  from  the  scene,  this 
time  taking  greater  care  to  conceal  my  presence. 
Evidently  the  warblers  thought  I  had  taken  my 
departure,  for  after  a  lapse  of  about  ten  minutes 
one  of  them  flew  down  and,  alighting  on  a  weed 
stalk,  carefully  surveyed  the  surroundings ;  things 
seeming  to  her  entire  satisfaction,  she  made  straight 
for  her  nest,  but  it  was  not  within  several  yards  of 
where  she  had  tried  to  mislead  me  into  believing 
it  was.  This  time,  however,  I  waited  to  make 
perfectly  sure,  and  as  she  did  not  appear  again  I  felt 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  it,  so  I  approached 
quietly,  and  much  to  my  delight  discovered  my 
cunning  little  friend  (that  was  to  be)  sitting  on  her 
carefully  concealed  nest. 

Not  moving  a  muscle,  she  allowed  me  to  examine 
her  minutely,  and  I  wondered  at  her  cleverness  in 
taking  such  advantage  of  the  surroundings.  The 
nest  was  placed  in  a  slight  depression — whether 
made  by  the  bird  or  nature  could  not  be  known — 
beneath  the  partly- exposed  roots  of  a  shrub.  No 
rain  could  possibly  enter  the  nest,  as  the  earth 
formed  a  mound  above  and  shed  the  water  as  it 
trickled  down  the  steep  incline.  A  more  perfect  pro- 
tection could  not  have  been  devised.  Not  wishing 


118  WILD   LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

to  disturb  the  confiding  and  patient  little  creature, 
I  retired  in  ignorance  of  what  she  was  guarding  so 
carefully. 

The  fact  of  not  having  seen  either  of  the  birds 
carrying  food  led  me  to  suppose  she  had  eggs.  If 
so,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  the  following  morning 
by  8  or  9  o'clock  the  sun's  rays  would  creep 
through  openings  between  the  tree  tops,  and,  keep- 
ing the  eggs  warm,  would  allow  the  small  bird  a 
short  rest  from  that  self-imposed  but  surely  tedious 
task  of  incubating,  and  then  I  could  get  a  glimpse 
at  her  treasure,  whatever  it  might  be.  And  so  it 
happened,  for  when  I  returned  in  the  morning 
the  sun  had  taken  the  mother  bird's  task  in  keep- 
ing warm  the  four  pinky-white  bespeckled  eggs. 
Taking  one  out  of  its  casket  I  examined  it  with 
transmitted  light.  Through  the  thin  shell  I  could 
clearly  see  that  it  would  be  but  a  matter  of  hours, 
or  at  most  one  day,  before  the  young  would  arrive. 

The  parents  both  seriously  objected,  I  fear,  to 
this  act  of  what  I  trust  was  pardonable  curiosity, 
so  I  quickly  returned  the  frail  egg  to  its  proper 
place,  and  stepping  back  a  few  paces  watched  the 
excited  birds ;  nor  had  I  long  to  wait,  for  they, 
knowing  full  well  that  their  home  was  discovered, 
made  no  attempt  at  concealment. 

One  of  them — we  must  suppose  it  was  the  female, 
but  as  they  do  not  show  any  difference  in  colouring 
or  marking  I  could  only  surmise — made  straight  for 
the  nest  and,  after  looking  carefully  at  each  egg 
to  see  that  no  ill  had  befallen  it,  arranged  herself 
comfortably  with  feathers  fluffed  out,  so  that  she 
appeared  nearly  double  her  proper  size.  Then  she 


The  Worm-eating  Warbler  on  her  Nest. 


THE  WARBLER    FAMILY         119 

sat  watching  my  every  move  in  an  interested,  but 
somewhat  suspicious  way. 

Of  course  I  must  have  a  photograph  of  her  as 
she  sat  guarding  her  home  and  eggs.  The  greatest 
care  had  to  be  observed  in  manipulating  the 
camera  so  as  to  avoid  making  any  sudden  move- 
ment, for  that  will  usually  frighten  a  sitting  bird, 
even  when  she  is  not  of  a  naturally  timid  nature. 
Certain  weeds  and  leaves  had  to  be  removed  in 
order  that  the  bird  might  be  clearly  shown. 

Evidently  she  was  beginning  to  place  confidence 
in  me,  for  she  allowed  a  twig  to  be  broken  off  that 
was  within  a  few  inches  of  the  nest.  The  camera 
was  finally  arranged  in  proper  position,  and  who 
will  say  what  she  thought  of  the  strange,  three- 
legged  monster  that  stared  at  her  with  its  large 
single  eye?  She  watched  it  intently,  and  1  was 
able  to  make  an  exposure  of  three  seconds,  for  I 
was  using  the  single  combination  of  the  lens,  as  the 
sunlight  had  crept  slowly  away  from  the  nest, 
leaving  it  in  the  shadow  of  the  tall  trees. 

After  making  still  another  exposure  I  took  the 
camera  away,  and  returning,  took  a  seat  quite  close 
to  the  nest.  This  I  did  that  the  bird  might  be 
accustomed  to  me,  as  I  had  in  mind  the  time 
when  I  should  want  to  photograph  her  youngsters. 
So  long  as  I  remained  she  never  left  the  nest,  but 
going  to  sleep,  showed  plainly  that  she  no  longer 
had  fear  of  me.  All  this  time  her  mate  stayed 
near  by,  hunting  incessantly  among  the  leaves  for 
his  insect  food.  Sometimes,  as  though  to  vary  his 
fare,  he  would  devote  his  attention  to  the  bark  of 
the  trees,  creeping  up  and  down  somewhat  after 


120  WILD  LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

the  manner  of  a  woodpecker,  searching  each 
crevice  in  the  hope  of  finding  concealed  some 
insect  that  was  especially  to  his  taste,  and  so  I 
watched  for  an  hour  or  so,  never  tiring  of  perform- 
ances so  interesting.  Then,  bidding  them  a  tem- 
porary farewell,  I  went  off  to  call  on  other  of  my 
bird  friends. 

Owing  to  an  unfortunate  combination  of  circum- 
stances, many  days  passed  before  I  was  again  able 
to  visit  my  friend  of  the  hillside.  It  was  a  disap- 
pointment, as  I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  young 
when  they  first  arrived.  As  it  was,  I  found  them 
pretty  well  grown,  for  nestlings,  and  I  knew  that 
in  a  day  or  two  they  would  be  strong  enough  to 
brave  the  great  world  under  the  able  guardianship 
of  their  parents.  They  seemed  to  be  a  fine  healthy 
brood,  each  bird  being  of  about  equal  size.  I 
mention  this  fact  because  it  very  frequently  hap- 
pens that  there  is  a  weakling  among  the  family, 
one  that  for  some  cause  or  other  does  not  grow 
as  fast  as  his  brothers ;  whether  it  is  that  he 
does  not  get  his  proper  share  of  food,  or  that  he 
was  hatched  a  day  or  so  later  than  the  others  of 
the  brood,  I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain. 
But  here  was  a  case  where  all  had  happened  as  it 
should  in  a  well-regulated  family,  and  I  was  glad 
that  it  was  so. 

The  parent  birds  were  not  much  disturbed  when 
they  saw  me  examining  their  family,  but  when  I 
took  one  out,  that  I  might  the  better  note  his  bud- 
ding feathers,  the  anxious  mother  instantly  flew  to 
my  feet,  and  with  spreading  wings  and  tail  she  tried 
to  lure  me  from  the  nest  by  pretending  some  mishap 


THE   WARBLER    FAMILY         121 

had  befallen  her.  It  did  not  take  her  long  to 
discover  that  she  had  failed  in  her  ruse — that  ruse, 
time-honoured,  yet  always  new  in  its  pathetic 
simplicity — and  she  tried  new  tactics  ;  but  these 
also  failed  owing  to  the  youngster  not  being 
sufficiently  developed.  She  tried  calling  him 
away  from  my  hand,  as  though  she  were  going  to 
feed  him,  but  the  little  fellow  was  not  yet  strong 
enough  to  balance  himself  on  my  finger,  let  alone 
fly  to  her.  To  ease  her  mind,  I  placed  him  back 
in  his  nest,  that  the  family  had  already  almost  out- 
grown, and  as  I  did  so,  I  wondered  whether  by 
chance  the  egg  I  had  held  in  my  hand  was  the  one 
from  which  this  bird  had  come. 

He  seemed  well  satisfied  to  be  with  his  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  soon  nestled  himself  amongst  them, 
forming  his  part  of  the  heaving  mass  of  down  and 
feathers. 

The  next  time  I  visited  the  nest  the  warblers  made 
no  objection,  and  I  imagined  they  recognised  me  and 
realised  that  I  meant  no  harm  either  to  themselves 
or  to  their  young,  for  these  had  hatched  out  since  my 
first  visit.  Day  by  day  I  came  to  watch  the  little 
fellows,  and  they  grew  rapidly,  as  all  young  birds 
do.  Finally,  they  were  ready  to  make  their  first 
venture  into  the  great  world  that,  should  no 
accident  befall  them,  was  to  be  their  feeding- 
ground  for  many  years  to  come. 

As  I  looked  into  the  nest  the  family  of  fledgelings 
scrambled  out  as  though  they  had  been  scattered 
by  some  invisible  hand,  so  nearly  simultaneous  was 
their  action,  and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell 
it  each  little  mite  of  down  and  rust-coloured  feathers 


122  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

was  hidden  among  the  dead,  crackling  leaves  with 
which  the  ground  was  strewn.  Though  I  had  tried 
my  best  to  watch  where  each  bird  concealed  itself, 
it  was  some  time  before  I  collected  them  all 
preparatory  to  photographing  them.  Of  course 
the  parents  were  greatly  excited — birds  always  are 
when  their  young  first  leave  the  nest — and  when 
they  saw  the  entire  brood  captured  by  one  whom 
they  had  considered  a  friend,  they  seemed  to 
regret  having  placed  so  much  confidence  in  me. 
But  only  for  a  very  short  time  did  their  doubts 
continue.  As  soon  as  I  placed  the  youngsters 
on  a  suitable  perch  they  both  ceased  to  utter  that 
lisping  note  of  anxious  protestation,  and  to  show 
that  they  no  longer  feared  me  they  hopped  about 
on  the  camera  while  I  was  arranging  it. 

When  young  birds  (before  they  can  fly)  are 
placed  on  a  perch  they  invariably  fall  off  almost  as  fast 
as  they  are  put  on,  and  there  is  usually  a  bad  one  in 
the  lot  who  positively  refuses  to  sit  anywhere  he 
may  be  placed.  Not  only  does  he  fall  off,  but  if 
possible  he  grabs  one  or  two  of  his  small  com- 
panions, and  down  they  go  together.  These  young 
warblers  were  no  exception,  and  off  they  went,  one 
after  another.  The  bad  one  proved  to  be  very  bad 
indeed,  and  he  is  shown  in  only  two  of  the  many 
photographs  I  made  of  the  family. 

While  the  pictures  were  being  taken  one  of  the 
parent  birds  stayed  near  by  to  watch  over  her 
youngsters,  while  the  other  went  off  in  search  of 
food,  for  which  they  called  continually,  and  though 
I  was  not  more  than  three  or  four  feet  distant, 
she  fed  them  without  troubling  herself  at  all  about 


THE   WARBLER   FAMILY         123 

my  presence.  Once  she  even  perched  on  my  hat 
and  used  the  camera  as  a  half-way  house,  resting 
on  it  each  time  she  went  back  and  forth  to  supply 
the  fledgelings  with  food.  Unfortunately  the  light 
was  not  very  good  for  instantaneous  photography, 
but  such  an  opportunity  for  securing  pictures  of 
this  comparatively  rare  bird  was  not  to  be  missed, 
so  I  made  many  exposures  on  her  and  her  young, 
with  fair  results. 

From  a  photographic  standpoint  they  were 
faulty,  but  the  subject  was  sufficiently  interesting 
to  warrant  one's  overlooking  the  shortcomings. 
The  light  had  grown  so  weak  by  the  time  I  had 
made  about  fifteen  exposures  that  I  was  forced  to 
abandon  any  further  attempts  with  the  camera  for 
that  day.  Sitting  down  on  the  ground,  I  placed 
the  young  warblers  on  my  lap  to  examine  them 
carefully.  Imagine  my  surprise  when  both  the 
parent  birds  came  on  my  knee,  first  without  and 
then  with  food  for  the  youngsters.  It  was  quite 
a  novel  sensation,  and  one  that  was  more  than 
enjoyable.  It  was  positively  thrilling. 

Knowing  from  past  experience  how  sceptical 
people  are  when  told  of  anything  that  they  them- 
selves have  not  seen,  I  made  up  my  mind  then  and 
there  to  pay  my  warbler  friends  another  visit  early 
the  following  day,  and  photograph  the  old  one  on 
my  hand.  The  day  was  fine,  and  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  one  of  the  young  ones,  who  could 
now  fly  a  little,  perched  on  the  low  branch  of  a 
small  bush.  One  of  the  old  birds  was  hunting 
busily  for  insects.  Seeing  me  pick  up  her  baby, 
she  flew  toward  me,  but  did  not  object  in  the  least 


124  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

to  my  taking  temporary  possession  of  it.  So  I  felt 
sure  that  she  recognised  her  friend  of  the  previous 
day.  A  few  moments  sufficed  to  arrange  the 
camera  in  a  place  where  the  light  was  bright, 
and  when  all  was  ready  to  my  satisfaction,  I  took 
the  little  fellow,  who  had  been  quietly  sleeping  in 
the  warm  sunlight,  and  set  him  on  my  finger. 

Soon  he  called  lustily  for  food,  and  it  was 
strange  to  see  how  quickly  his  parent  heard  and 
understood.  In  a  minute  or  two  she  came  hurry- 
ing along,  carrying  in  her  beak  a  daddy-long-legs, 
and,  after  pausing  on  the  camera  to  see  that  all  was 
right,  she  flew  on  my  hand,  and  calmly  fed  her 
hungry  little  one.  With  my  disengaged  hand,  I 
pressed  the  bulb,  and  a  picture  was  secured. 

The  daddy-long-legs  served  only  to  whet  the 
appetite  of  my  small  friend,  who  cried  out  eagerly 
for  more.  Again  the  industrious  provider  went  oft 
in  search  of  other  and  larger  insects.  She  was 
away  for  some  time,  but  what  she  brought  back 
fully  compensated  for  the  long  wait — of  perhaps 
four  minutes.  It  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
huge  brown  grasshopper,  nearly  as  long  as  the  small 
bird  himself.  Again  was  the  camera  used  as  a 
halting-place,  and  again  did  she  fly  on  my  hand. 
Hungry  though  the  little  fellow  may  have  been, 
he  was  unable  to  swallow  so  large  a  mouthful,  and 
he  dropped  the  grasshopper  into  my  partly  closed 
hand.  Unfortunately  I  had  just  pressed  the  bulb 
and  was  therefore  unable  to  take  a  photograph  of 
the  interesting  proceeding  that  followed. 

Quite  naturally  the  mother  bird  was  anxious 
that  so  bountiful  a  supply  of  food  should  not 


ja 


THE   WARBLER    FAMILY          125 

be  wasted,  and  she  stood  on  my  thumb  and, 
bending  down,  so  that  her  head  was  inside  my 
hand,  extricated  the  prize.  Then  she  proceeded  to 
break  it  into  pieces  of  suitable  size,  and  with  these 
she  fed  her  quivering  and  impatient  little  offspring. 
During  the  morning  I  secured  a  few  more  photo- 
graphs of  these  interesting  birds,  and  then  return- 
ing the  youngster  to  the  bush  whence  I  had  taken 
him,  I  left  the  pair  in  possession  of  their  hillside 
estate  and  returned  to  my  home  with  abundant 
proof  of  the  tameness  of  my  warbler  friends. 


THE  VIREO   AND   THE    GOWBIRD 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE    VIREO    AND    THE    COWBIRD 

THE  following  account  of  a  first-hand  observation 
with  a  red- eyed  vireo,  though  not  by  any  means 
extraordinary,  is  nevertheless  interesting,  as  demon- 
strating the  birds'  powers  of  reasoning  in  dealing 
with  what  is  not  in  any  way  a  regular  occurrence  in 
the  daily  life.  To  argue  that  the  birds'  actions 
were  entirely  according  to  natural  instinct  would 
seem  scarcely  fair  to  the  little  feathered  creatures 
who  acted  with  such  far-sighted  intelligence.  In 
mentally  attempting  to  deprive  them  of  their 
reasoning  power  we  might  question  the  wisdom 
of  their  action.  From  an  economic  point  of 
view,  would  it  not  have  been  better  to  have  built 
a  new  nest  rather  than  change  the  first  one? 
But  would  the  result  have  been  any  different  ?  It 
probably  required  no  more  time  to  make  the  change 
than  to  have  constructed  an  entirely  new  nest. 

When  birds  build  their  nests  they  appear  to  have 
certain  well-defined  objects  in  view.  The  nest 
must  be  well  concealed  or  out  of  reach  of  many 
enemies,  and  due  care  must  be  observed  that  its 
contents  shall  be  protected  from  the  elements.  It 
must  be  sheltered  from  the  rain,  and,  if  the  young 
are  to  remain  in  it  for  any  length  of  time,  shaded 
from  the  sun.  In  taking  these  precautions  the  bird 
may  be  said  to  be  simply  following  out  the  habits 

W.L.C.  K 


130  WILD  LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

of  its  nature,  so  that  it  does  come  under  the 
heading  of  that  much-abused  word  "  instinct."  But 
at  times  birds  are  forced  to  resort  to  remarkable 
expedien  ts  thattheir  eggs  and  young  may  be  pro- 
tected. Then  it  is  that  we  see  a  display  of  what 
can  only  be  termed  intelligence  :  a  careful  weighing 
of  existing  conditions  and  formulating  of  plans  to 
outwit  enemies.  One  of  the  most  common  and 
at  the  same  time  the  most  interesting  example  of 
this  is  afforded  by  the  way  in  which  birds  seek 
to  rid  themselves  of  the  burden  of  fostering  the 
cowbird's  young.  Much  has  been  written  on  this 
subject,  and  yet  people  in  general  do  not  realise 
how  clever  the  birds  are.  The  accompanying  set 
of  photographs  made  directly  from  nature  may  help 
the  reader  to  appreciate  the  truth  of  the  following 
account  of  how  a  red-eyed  vireo  rid  herself  of  a 
cowbird's  spurious  egg.  The  cowbird,  like  the 
European  cuckoo,  is  parasitic  in  her  habits,  that  is 
to  say,  she  relies  on  other  birds  to  incubate  her 
eggs  and  watch  over  and  feed  her  young.  And  it 
is  quite  customary  to  condemn  the  poor  cowbird 
for  such  behaviour,  no  thought  being  given  to  the 
reason  why.  Everything  in  nature  has  a  reason,  if 
we  would  but  stop  to  inquire  into  it,  and  anything 
so  far  from  the  natural  order  of  things  as  a  highly 
developed  creature  refusing  to  care  for  its  own 
young  must,  without  doubt,  have  a  very  strong 
and  sufficient  reason.  Presumably  the  cowbird 
cannot  lay  her  eggs  on  consecutive  days,  four  or 
five  days  being,  I  believe,  the  interval  between  lay- 
ings. Now  it  stands  to  reason  that  if  she  built  her 
own  nest  and  laid,  let  us  say,  three  or  four  eggs,  the 


A  White-eyed  Vireo,  whose  desire  for  ornamentation  led  her  to  cover  her 
beautiful  semi-pensile  Nest  with  small  pieces  of  Wood  that  had  been 
cut  by  a  Wood-pecker. 


THE   VIREO   AND   THE   COWBIRD  131 

first  egg  might  spoil  before  the  last  one  was  laid. 
So  the  families  would  be  very  small,  and  the 
inevitable  result  would  be  a  speedy  extermination 
of  this  useful  bird.  To  avoid  this,  the  bird  lays 
her  eggs  in  the  nests  of  other  birds,  usually  choosing 
the  homes  of  birds  rather  smaller  than  herself,  so 
that  her  young  shall  be  under  no  disadvantage  in 
point  of  size.  Sometimes  she  deposits  her  egg  in 
the  nest  before  the  rightful  owner  has  commenced 
laying.  In  such  cases  they  are  seldom  allowed  to 
hatch,  but  more  often  the  cowbird  watches  her 
opportunity  and  places  her  eggs  in  a  nest  that 
already  contains  one  or  more.  Then  it  is  hatched 
with  the  others,  and  the  young  cowbird,  being 
nearly  always  larger  than  his  companion  nestlings, 
manages  to  secure  the  greater  share  of  the  food 
and  thrives  accordingly,  while  the  rightful  owners 
sometimes  die  (so  I  am  told)  in  the  nest,  or  are 
forced  out  of  it  to  die  on  the  ground.  All  this  is 
done  by  the  cowbird  in  self-defence,  and  we  should 
hesitate  before  condemning  the  bird  for  its  seem- 
ingly strange  behaviour. 

A  few  years  ago  I  had  an  opportunity  of  watch- 
ing a  pair  of  red-eyed  vireos  who  had  selected  a 
tree  near  our  house  for  their  nesting  site.  The  nest 
I  had  watched  from  its  very  beginning — a  few 
beakfuls  of  dry  grass  and  fine  bark  woven  about 
the  fork  of  a  horizontal  branch.  Day  by  day  the 
nest  grew  until  after  five  days  the  beautiful 
semi-pensile  structure  was  complete.  It  was  a 
simple  basket-like  nest,  supported  by  its  upper 
edges  being  led  to  the  forked  branch.  There  was 
no  attempt  at  decoration  of  any  kind  such  as  we 

K  2 


132  WILD   LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

often  find  in  similar  nests,  pieces  of  lichen,  webs, 
cocoons,  small  pieces  of  broken  wood,  and  such  like 
substances,  being  fastened  to  the  outside  by  means 
of  webbing.  On  the  day  when  the  final  touch  was 
given,  and  the  nest  was  in  readiness  to  receive  the 
first  eggs,  a  cowbird  came  when  the  vireos  were 
absent  and  deposited  her  grey  speckled  egg  in  the 
newly- finished  nest ;  having  done  this  she  departed 
as  silently  as  she  came. 

What  were  her  thoughts  as  she  thus  silently 
deposited  her  precious  burden  in  this  strange  cradle  ? 
How  was  she  fulfilling  this  greatest  of  nature's  laws, 
the  perpetuation  of  her  kind  ?  Did  she  realise  that 
there  was  some  peculiar,  and  to  our  limited  know- 
ledge of  things,  apparently  unnatural  reason  for  not 
being  able  to  take  care  of  her  own  offspring  ?  Why 
was  she,  of  so  many  thousand  species,  selected  to  be 
denied  the  cares  and  joys  of  motherhood  ?  Who 
can  answer  ?  Did  she  think  at  all  on  the  subject  as 
she  searched  the  woods  and  fields  for  a  suitable 
home  for  the  young  she  would  never  see  ?  Had  she 
surreptitiously  watched  these  vireos  building  their 
nest,  knowing  that  when  it  was  completed  she 
would  make  use  of  it  ?  Who  shall  say  ?  Perhaps 
even  it  was  all  a  matter  of  chance,  though  that 
is  not  according  to  nature's  method.  Had  she 
suddenly  realised  that  the  moment  was  come  when 
the  egg  must  be  deposited,  and  so  chosen  the  first 
available  nest  from  which  the  rightful  owners  were 
absent  ?  None  of  these  simple  questions  can  we 
answer.  Our  surmises  may  be  right  or  they  may 
be  wrong.  We  cannot  know.  Nature  hides  well 
her  secrets,  and  so  what  are  apparently  the  simplest 


THE  VIREO  AND  THE   COWBIRD  133 

problems  must  often  prove  on  investigation  to  be  the 
most  difficult  of  solution.  How  often  do  we  settle 
questions  offhand  and  to  our  entire  satisfaction,  only 
to  discover  later  on  that  our  theories  are  utterly 
groundless  and  ridiculous?  We  have  only  our 
own  experience  on  which  to  work,  and  so  we 
endeavour  to  reason  only  from  one  point  of  view, 
forgetting  too  frequently  that  other  creatures 
living  under  totally  different  conditions  must  base 
their  actions  on  equally  different  premises. 

When  the  vireos  returned  I  was  attracted  by 
the  noise  they  made,  and,  visiting  the  nest,  dis- 
covered the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  Such  excite- 
ment there  was,  chattering  and  commotion.  Now 
and  then  plaintive  notes  could  be  heard,  as  though 
they  were  bewailing  their  misfortune.  Many  other 
birds  joined  with  them  in  their  lamentations.  The 
wood-thrush,  whose  nest  was  in  the  near-by  maple, 
repeatedly  uttered  her  loud  single  note  of  distress, 
as  though  in  sympathy  with  the  poor  little  vireos. 
But  wherefore  all  this  uproar  ?  Why  not  cast  out 
the  spurious  egg,  destroy  it,  for,  after  all,  had  it  any 
right  to  be  there  ?  Once  more,  who  shall  say  ?  To 
us  it  would  certainly  seem  far  easier  to  throw  it 
out.  But,  strange  to  say,  that  is  seldom,  if  ever, 
done.  Anything  but  that.  Even  let  it  hatch  and 
allow  the  sturdy  parasite  to  devour  by  far  the 
greater  share  of  the  food  brought  by  the  industrious 
owners  of  the  nest,  so  that  the  rightful  occupants 
shall  go  hungry — yes,  and  even  starve — for  that 
often  happens.  But  these  vireos  had  no  intention 
of  letting  the  big,  dull-coloured  egg  hatch.  Soon 
the  excitement  died  away  and  the^  fell  to  work 


134  WILD   LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

with  a  will,  and  in  a  few  hours  the  unwelcome  egg 
had  almost  vanished  from  sight. 

It  had  been  forced  into  the  bottom  of  the  nest, 
and  a  new  floor  was  being  laid  over  it.  Nearly 
two  days  passed  before  the  results  were  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  imposed-upon  birds,  and  then 
the  mother  bird  laid  one  egg — a  white  egg  with 
shell  so  thin  that  the  yolk  tinged  it  with  a  delicate 
pinkish  hue ;  about  its  larger  end  were  eight  or 
nine  tiny  dark  specks,  which  served  to  accentuate 
the  purity  of  the  white.  The  following  morning 
the  bird  commenced  incubating  this  solitary  egg, 
and  after  the  regular  time  had  elapsed  a  small, 
helpless,  pink  bird  took  the  place  of  the  egg.  Not 
having  any  others  with  whom  to  share  its  food  it 
received  more  than  usually  falls  to  the  lot  of  a 
young  bird,  and  therefore  grew  with  wonderful 
rapidity.  In  six  days  rows  of  pin  feathers  covered 
its  fat  little  body ;  in  two  more  days  these  feathers 
had  broken  from  their  envelopes  and  partly  covered 
the  bare  places.  The  youngster  was  evidently 
thinking  of  leaving  his  comfortable  home,  for  I 
found  him  on  the  ninth  day  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  the  nest  taking  in  the  general  appearance  of 
things.  The  next  day  he  felt  sufficient  confidence 
in  his  strength  to  make  his  bow  to  the  great  world 
of  trees,  and  sunshine,  and  caterpillars,  and  all  other 
things  that  must  be  of  interest  to  a  fledgeling.  By 
instinct  he  knew  of  enemies  and  would  remain 
motionless  in  the  presence  of  danger,  trusting  in 
his  delicate  pearly  white  and  soft  greenish-brown 
colours  not  to  betray  him  to  the  enemy,  human  or 
otherwise.  Instinct,  too,  told  him  how  to  fly,  but 


THE   VIREO   AND   THE   COWBIRD  135 

for  the  two  or  three  weeks  after  leaving  the  nest 
he  relied  entirely  on  his  parents  for  his  food.  They 
taught  him  what  insects  to  eat  and  when  and  how 
to  find  them,  how  to  look  on  the  underside  of  a 
leaf  for  the  small  green  caterpillars,  how  to  dart 
quickly  at  any  insect  which  had  wings,  and  so 
many  other  things  about  which  we  know  absolutely 
nothing.  For  there  is  much  that  a  bird  must  know 
if  he  would  win  his  way  through  life.  Let  him  be 
slow  to  learn  and  his  life  will  be  a  short  one.  For 
nature's  law  is,  and  always  will  be,  "  the  survival  ot 
the  fittest." 


NOTES  ON   THE   BREEDING   HABITS 
OF  THE  AMERICAN  WOODCOCK 


CHAPTER  IX 

NOTES   ON   THE   BREEDING   HABITS   OF   THE 
AMERICAN   WOODCOCK 

WHEN  the  low  damp  swale  has  thawed  and 
there  is  but  little  chance  of  another  snowfall,  the 
woodcock  return  from  their  winter  quarters  in  the 
north  to  their  breeding  grounds  of  the  previous  year. 
As  soon  as  the  male  bird  has  won  a  mate  with  his 
extraordinary  system  of  courtship,  which  consists 
chiefly  of  spiral  gyrations  in  mid-air,  he,  together 
with  his  chosen  partner,  at  once  examines  the 
country  for  a  favourable  nesting  site.  This  is  an 
important  matter,  and  the  selection  shows  how  the 
birds  weigh  the  advantages  of  different  likely  places. 
There  are  several  points  to  be  considered :  first  of 
all,  the  actual  site  of  the  nest  must  be  dry  and  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  a  good  feeding  ground, 
but  above  all  things  must  be  considered  the  safety 
of  the  nest  from  the  many  enemies  that  threaten 
it.  To  insure  this  the  clever  birds  depend  not  so 
much  upon  the  dense  tangle  of  underbrush,  which 
one  would  naturally  suppose  to  be  the  safest  method 
of  protection,  as  upon  the  colouring  of  the  material 
with  which  the  ground  is  strewn,  for  herein  they 
show  their  reliance  on  their  own  protective  colour- 
ing and  marking  which  matches  so  nearly  the  dead 
leaves,  weeds,  and  sticks.  The  reason  that  the  nest 
is  so  seldom  placed  in  the  midst  of  a  dense  tangle 


140  WILD  LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

is  presumably  the  desire  for  warmth  from  the  sun. 
Every  nest  found  by  the  writer  has  been  situated  so 
that  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day  it  had  the 
benefit  of  the  sun's  rays  ;  but  whether  the  warmth  is 
desired  by  the  bird  itself  or  for  her  eggs,  or  in  order 
that  the  ground  immediately  surrounding  the  nest 
should  be  kept  dry,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  As 
has  been  said,  the  colour  of  the  bird  is  pre-eminently 
protective,  so  much  so  that  even  when  we  know 
within  a  few  feet  where  she  is  sitting,  it  requires 
keen  and  observant  eyes  to  discover  her.  Were  it 
not  for  this  fact  the  number  of  woodcock  in  the 
country  would  rapidly  decrease,  for  their  enemies 
are  many.  Boys  would  take  the  eggs,  and  the 
hawks,  apparently  numerous  in  the  early  spring, 
keep  up  such  an  incessant  search  that  they  would 
have  little  difficulty  in  detecting  the  sitting  bird 
during  this  bleak  season  of  the  year.  Few  birds 
are  more  devoted  to  the  cares  of  incubation,  both 
the  male  and  female  taking  part  in  that  painfully 
patient  duty,  and  it  is  seldom  indeed  that  the  eggs 
are  left  exposed  to  view.  The  coldness  of  the  season 
may  possibly  have  something  to  do  with  this,  for 
the  eggs  would  quickly  spoil  were  they  not  kept 
constantly  warm.  When,  however,  it  happens  that 
the  old  bird  is  flushed,  we  notice  how  nature  has  pro- 
vided for  the  safety  of  the  eggs  by  tinting  them  with 
a  drab  colour  freely  blotched  with  dull  brownish 
marks ;  thus  is  the  egg  rendered  inconspicuous,  as 
its  colours  blend  to  perfection  with  the  immediate 
surroundings.  The  nest  itself  does  not  betray  its 
precious  burden,  for  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word 
there  is  no  nest,  that  is  to  say,  none  is  built.  The 


HABITS  OF  AMERICAN  WOODCOCK  141 

dead  leaves  are  pressed  down  so  that  the  eggs  will 
have  no  tendency  to  roll  away — perhaps  some  down 
or  a  few  feathers  are  added  and  the  nest  is  complete; 
simplicity  itself,  yet  most  admirably  adapted  to  its 
purpose.  In  the  vicinity  of  New  York  the  eggs 
are  laid  about  the  first  week  in  April,  and  as  the 
period  of  incubation  occupies  eighteen  days  or 
thereabouts,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  young  arrive 
while  the  ground,  which  till  so  recently  was  covered 
with  snow,  is  still  naked,  for  the  spring  plants  have 
not  yet  ventured  from  their  mouldy  cradles,  so  that 
protection  must  be  found  among  the  crackling  dead 
leaves,  and  it  is  interesting  to  observe  how  very 
closely  their  colouring  coincides  with  that  of  the 
dry  leaves.  Owing  to  the  fact  that  the  youngsters 
leave  the  nest  almost  immediately  after  they  are 
hatched,  we  see  how  very  important  it  is  that  they 
should  be  protectively  coloured.  Young  woodcock 
obey  the  great  law  that  governs  fledgelings  after 
they  leave  the  nest,  which  says  that  when  an  enemy 
approaches  no  movement  must  be  made.  Sitting 
absolutely  still,  these  little  balls  of  russet  fluff  are 
safe  from  discovery,  and  even  after  the  threatening 
danger  has  passed  they  remain  motionless  until  a 
call  from  the  parent  bird  informs  them  that  there 
is  no  longer  need  of  concealment. 

How  well  the  adult  woodcock  is  protected  by 
its  markings  and  coloration  is  well  indicated  in 
the  accompanying  illustration,  which  is  a  faithful 
reproduction  of  a  photograph  taken  directly  from 
life.  To  insure  accuracy  as  to  colour  values 
(which  is,  of  course,  a  most  important  item,  and 
one  beyond  the  capacity  of  the  ordinary  plate  to 


142  WILD   LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

deal  with)  isochromatic  plates  were  used,  together 
with  a  ray  filter.  So  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
the  relative  value  of  the  birds'  colouring  and  that 
of  the  leaves  is  faithfully  shown.  This  and  other 
photographs  were  taken  on  three  consecutive  days, 
and  it  is  curious  to  note  that  in  every  case  the 
bird  had  its  bill  beneath  the  twigs.  This  renders 
her  even  less  conspicuous  than  she  would  otherwise 
have  been.  Her  brilliant  dark  eye  is  almost  the 
only  thing  that  betrays  her  presence,  even  in  the 
photograph,  where  she  is  sharply  in  focus,  while  the 
surroundings  are  more  or  less  blurred.  It  has  been 
said  that  if  once  a  woodcock  has  been  frightened 
from  its  nest  by  a  person,  it  will  not  again  allow  of 
a  human  being's  near  approach,  but  will  glide 
off  silently  while  the  intruder  is  yet  many  feet 
away.  The  bird  here  portrayed,  though  frightened 
(accidentally,  of  course)  from  her  nest  when  first 
discovered,  grew  more  and  more  tame  and  con- 
fiding with  each  successive  visit,  and  finally  allowed 
the  camera  to  be  placed  within  less  than  three  feet 
of  her.  In  order  to  show  the  position  of  the  eye 
(which  allows  the  bird  to  keep  a  sharp  look-out 
even  when  its  bill  is  deep  in  the  damp  earth, 
searching  for  worms)  and  the  peculiar  form  of  the 
head,  the  camera  was  placed  about  seven  inches  off 
the  ground  on  two  stones,  brought  there  while  the 
bird  was  sitting.  Further  than  that,  she  allowed 
the  writer's  hand  to  come  within  three  inches  of 
her  head  and  remove  a  twig  which  would  have 
interfered  with  the  picture.  That  the  reader  may 
fully  realise  how  motionless  the  bird  remained,  it 
is  only  necessary  to  say  that  owing  to  the  fact  that 


HABITS  OF  AMERICAN  WOODCOCK  143 

the  photograph  was  made  on  a  dark  day  during 
a  shower,  the  ray  filter  (which  trebles  the  length  of 
exposure),  and  the  smallest  diaphragm  were  used, 
and  that  an  exposure  of  ninety  seconds  was  given. 
Yet  there  is  no  sign  of  movement.  The  question 
has  been  frequently  asked,  "  Did  she  know  that  she 
was  discovered  ? "  It  is  probable  that  she  did,  for 
even  with  her  knowledge  of  her  protective  colora- 
tion it  is  doubtful  whether  she  carried  her  belief  in 
it  for  quite  such  a  length ;  but  why  did  she  sit  so 
absolutely  still  ? 


SHOOTING    WILD    DUCKS    AND 
GEESE  WITH  THE  CAMERA 


W.L.C. 


CHAPTER  X 

SHOOTING   WILD    DUCKS   AND    GEESE   WITH 
THE    CAMERA 

THE  clock  in  the  big  club-room  had  just  struck 
eight,  the  hour  when  all  the  members  and  guests  of 
the  .  .  .  Shooting  Club  were  wont  to  foregather  and 
draw  for  blinds  and  men  to  pole  their  canoes.  On 
the  selection  of  a  good  blind  must  usually  depend 
the  day's  sport,  and  a  satisfactory  man  adds  not  a 
little  to  one's  comfort  and  pleasure.  As  a  guest 
I  was  to  draw  in  my  turn,  when  one  of  the 
members  remarked  that  "  any  blind  would  be  good 
enough  for  me,  as  I  was  only  going  to  photograph, 
while  the  others  intended  to  shoot." 

This  was  the  point  of  view  of  probably  most  of 
the  veteran  sportsmen  present.  They  failed  to  see 
how  it  mattered  whether  I  had  opportunities  to 
photograph  the  ducks  or  not,  while  it  was  of  the 
utmost  importance  that  those  who  used  the  gun 
should  have  the  surest  chance  of  killing  the  limit. 
I  do  not  mention  this  as  a  criticism,  but  simply  to 
show  how  little  idea  these  men  had  of  the  sporting 
possibilities  which  the  camera  offers  to  the  hunter. 
For  to  hunt  with  a  camera  requires  infinitely  more 
skill  than  shooting  with  a  gun,  and  the  number  of 
successful  photographic  shots  must  inevitably  be 
very  much  smaller.  A  keenness  and  alertness 
undreamed  of  by  those  who  shoot  is  absolutely 

L2 


148  WILD  LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

necessary,  and  even  then  only  under  the  most 
favourable  conditions  can  one  hope  to  secure 
satisfactory  results. 

Generally  speaking,  ducks  decoy  well  only  on 
overcast  days,  and  in  the  early  morning  and  late 
evening,  when,  of  course,  photographing  is  out  of 
the  question.  The  brightest  light  is  none  too 
good  for  making  exposures  of  from  one  to  two 
thousandths  of  a  second,  and  anything  slower  than 
that  will  not  catch  the  rapid  action  of  a  duck  in 
flight.  So  it  will  be  seen  that  in  my  form  of 
hunting  I  at  least  wanted  as  good  a  chance  as  the 
other  sportsmen,  and  after  I  had  explained  my 
point  of  view  I  was  allowed  to  draw  a  blind. 

The  following  morning,  just  as  the  sun  was  creep- 
ing over  the  mist-hidden  tops  of  the  cypress  trees, 
we  stjarted.  My  man  seemed  amused  at  my  photo- 
graphic battery,  and  evidently  looked  on  me  as  a 
mild  lunatic.  Why  I  carried  no  gun  was  beyond 
his  power  of  comprehension,  and  he  poled  the  flat- 
bottomed  canoe  through  the  sluggish  Arkansas 
stream  in  a  listless  way  which  revealed  more 
eloquently  than  words  his  utter  contempt  of  my 
dea  of  sport.  The  other  canoes  passed  us,  and  the 
men  in  them  jokingly  taunted  my  unhappy  negro. 
Long  years  of  experience  with  unenthusiastic  guides 
had  hardened  my  feelings,  and  I  was  no  longer  sen- 
sitive to  anyone's  ideas  regarding  camera  hunting. 

Eventually  we  arrived  at  our  blind  and  put  out 
the  decoys,  both  live  and  wooden  ones,  and  then  I 
made  ready  for  work  by  clearing  a  small  opening 
in  the  brush  through  which  I  could  operate  the 
camera.  This  is  a  very  important  thing  to  do 


WILD   DUCKS   AND   GEESE        149 

properly.  Many  a  good  opportunity  may  be  lost 
through  the  intervening  of  a  small  twig  between 
the  lens  and  the  birds. 

Our  blind  was  between  two  cypress  trees  at  the 
edge  of  a  swamp  facing  a  large  lake.  For  several 
hours  we  remained  quiet,  the  only  interruption 
being  the  snores  of  the  guide,  who  lay  fast  asleep 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Several  times  ducks 
passed  us,  but  always  out  of  range,  anything  over 
a  hundred  feet  being  practically  too  far  for  the 
camera,  even  with  a  long-focus  lens. 

At  last  a  slight  splashing  among  the  cypresses 
attracted  my  attention.  There,  swimming  along 
not  sixty  yards  away,  was  a  solitary  goose.  Un- 
fortunately I  had  not  counted  on  anything  in  that 
direction,  and  therefore  had  not  prepared  a  peep- 
hole ;  so  I  stood  up,  hoping  to  be  able  to  get  the 
camera  above  the  brush.  Quiet  as  I  was,  the  bird 
heard  me  and  immediately  swam  away,  much  to 
my  disgust. 

About  half-an-hour  later,  while  watching  a  pair 
of  pintails  that  seemed  inclined  to  come  our  way, 
with  the  corner  of  my  eye  I  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing moving  quite  close  to  the  blind.  My  surprise 
may  be  imagined  when  I  say  that  this  something 
proved  to  be  the  goose,  not  ten  feet  away.  Here 
was  the  chance  of  a  lifetime,  and  with  trembling 
fingers  I  drew  the  slide  from  the  plate-holder  so  as 
to  be  ready  when  the  bird  should  pass  the  place 
where  I  had  made  the  opening  in  the  blind.  At 
that  moment  the  wretched  guide  moved  his  foot 
and  made  just  enough  noise  to  alarm  the  goose, 
and  off  it  flew,  without  giving  me  a  chance  to 


150  WILD   LIFE   AND  THE   CAMERA 

photograph  it,  owing  to  the  intervening  brush. 
No  words  can  express  my  disappointment,  for  prob- 
ably never  again  shall  I  have  another  opportunity 
to  photograph  a  goose  at  such  a  close  range. 

I  was  mentally  cursing  my  luck  when  Dame 
Fortune  smiled  on  me,  and  I  forgave  her  the  trick 
she  had  just  played.  A  pair  of  mallard  drakes  flew 
past,  stooping  to  the  decoys,  then  rising  again, 
and  after  whirling  around  three  times  they  finally 
dropped  just  beyond  the  decoys,  perhaps  fifty  feet 
away.  They  were  suspicious,  and  after  sitting 
still  for  a  few  moments  began  swimming  away.  I 
quickly  whispered  to  the  guide,  who  had  awakened, 
telling  him  to  make  a  sudden  noise,  while  I  trained 
the  camera  on  them.  Up  they  flew,  and  I  pressed 
the  button  just  in  time  to  secure  the  photograph 
shown  in  the  frontispiece — by  far  the  most  satis- 
factory duck  photograph  I  had  ever  made. 

All  that  day  and  for  nearly  a  week  I  worked 
hard  at  sitting  still  in  a  blind,  but  for  some  reason 
the  ducks  were  not  flying,  except  in  the  late  even- 
ing, so  I  had  no  luck  at  all.  Occasionally,  to  vary 
the  monotony,  we  would  take  a  trip  across  the  lake, 
in  the  middle  of  which  the  geese  were  gathered  in 
large  flocks.  By  bearing  down  on  them  with  a 
fresh  breeze  we  sometimes  were  able  to  approach 
within  about  150  yards,  and  as  the  birds  had  to 
rise  against  the  wind  they  were  compelled  to  come 
toward  us.  In  this  way  I  secured  some  fairly  satis- 
factory shots  at  reasonable  distances. 

Not  having  enough  material  in  the  way  of  illus- 
trations to  complete  this  article,  I  next  decided  to 
try  a  trip  to  Montauk  Point,  Long  Island,  where 


WILD  DUCKS   AND   GEESE        151 

I  had  heard  geese  were  very  plentiful.  Plentiful 
they  were,  but  extremely  wild.  I  tried  many  ways 
of  getting  within  range  of  them,  and  eventually 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  geese  knew  more  than 
most  people.  They  can  see  better  than  any  hawk, 
can  hear  better  than  the  most  timid  deer,  have 
patience  compared  with  which  Job's  was  nothing, 
and,  finally,  have  a  system  of  communication  more 
wonderful  than  wireless  telegraphy.  Altogether, 
I  can  take  off  my  hat  to  the  Canada  goose  and 
frankly  acknowledge  that  nine  times  out  of  ten  he 
can  make  a  fool  of  me.  For,  truth  to  tell,  my  pride 
was  so  humbled  after  a  second  trip  to  Montauk 
that  I  felt  positively  flattered  if  my  friends  called 
me  a  goose. 

Some  of  my  most  satisfactory  attempts  at  secur- 
ing photographs  were  obtained  by  driving  in  a 
carriage  to  within  camera-shot  of  the  geese.  Like 
many  birds  that  are  afraid  of  man,  the  goose  has 
less  fear  of  him  when  he  is  in  a  carriage  than  in 
any  other  place.  I  have  driven  fairly  close  to  the 
great  bustard  in  Russia  when  stalking  them  on  foot 
was  practically  impossible  ;  in  the  same  way  hawks 
may  be  approached  in  a  carriage  better  than  in  any 
other  way.  The  great  objection  to  this  method,  so 
far  as  geese  were  concerned,  lay  in  the  fact  that 
frequently  the  carriage  could  not  go  near  the  places 
where  the  geese  were. 

Sometimes  I  tried  having  them  driven  over  me, 
and  this  gave  me  several  good  chances.  But  only 
in  one  or  two  places  could  this  be  done  with  any 
degree  of  certainty. 

Stalking  in  most  cases  proved  impossible.     Try 


152  WILD  LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

as  I  might   to  conceal  myself,  there  was  nearly 
always  a  bird  in  some  unexpected  place  that  would 
get  his  eye  on  me  and  immediately  inform  every 
goose  in  the  lake  that  a  fool  man  was  crawling 
on  his  stomach  among  the  sand  dunes  with  the 
apparent  intention  of  doing  harm.     Meanwhile  I, 
completely  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  a  spy  had 
given   away   my  plans,  would   continue   crawling 
laboriously  through  the  sand  and  briars  and  scrubby 
brush,  not  daring  so  much  as  to  raise  my  head 
above  the  cover  until  the  place  was  reached  where 
I  had  seen  the  geese.     With  hope  in  my  heart — 
and  hope  is  really  the  chief  asset  of  the  camera 
hunter — I  would  open  my  camera,  and  with  every- 
thing ready  for  instant  action  quickly  rise,  only 
to  find  before  me  a  beautiful  view  of  blue  water 
and  sand  dunes,  while  far  away  in  the  middle  of 
the  lake  my  geese  sat  quietly  chuckling  to  each 
other  as  they  saw  how  I  had  been  outwitted.     An 
hour's  hard  work  had  gone  for  nothing,  and  as  I 
emptied  the  sand  from  my  shoes  and  pockets,  I 
thought  very  unprintable  things   about  geese  in 
general  and  about  those  geese  in  particular. 

My  efforts  at  baiting  with  corn  proved  only 
fairly  satisfactory,  except  to  the  crows,  which 
ate  most  of  it.  For  three  days  I  sat  crouched  in 
a  clump  of  low  bushes  while  my  bones  ached,  and  I 
watched  geese.  Once  they  came  within  a  hundred 
yards  and  then  turned  away  because  a  crow  flew 
over  my  head,  and,  seeing  me,  called  out  to  the 
geese  that  a  man  was  there.  In  this  way  he  drove 
them  away  and  had  the  corn  to  himself — truly  a 
case  of  disinterested  friendship !  Another  day  I 


V  o 

to    * 


WILD   DUCKS   AND   GEESE       153 

watched  about  forty  geese  for  several  hours  as  they 
fed  and  played  scarcely  two  hundred  yards  away. 
All  this  time  the  sun  was  shining  brightly.  At 
noon  it  clouded  over,  and  an  hour  later  the  rain 
fell  in  torrents.  Then,  of  course,  those  exasperating 
birds  came  to  the  bait  and  fed  not  forty  yards 
away.  It  was  too  dark,  however,  to  make  a  satis- 
factory photograph  as  they  flew  away.  I  would 
have  made  a  picture  of  them  feeding,  but  no  one 
would  have  believed  that  they  were  wild  geese. 

For  photographing  such  quick  birds  as  ducks 
and  geese  it  is,  needless  to  say,  absolutely  necessary 
to  use  a  very  rapid  shutter  and  a  long-focus  lens. 
The  telephoto  is  not  very  satisfactory,  owing  to  its 
lack  of  speed,  so  it  is  better  to  be  content  with  a 
smaller  image  and  enlarge  the  negative,  as  I  have 
done  with  all  the  accompanying  illustrations,  some 
of  which  have  been  enlarged  over  eight  diameters. 


THE  WHISTLING  SWAN  OF 
GURRITUCK  SOUND 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   WHISTLING    SWAN   OF   CURKITUCK    SOUND 

THE  mention  of  the  name  swan  brings  to  our 
mind  pictures  of  well-kept  lakes  or  ponds  sur- 
rounded by  ornamental  shrubs  and  stately  build- 
ings. "Among  our  ancestors,  too  simple  or  too 
wise  to  fill  their  gardens  with  the  frigid  beauties 
of  art  instead  of  the  lively  beauties  of  nature,  the 
swans  formed  the  ornament  of  every  piece  of  water." 
In  literature,  painting,  sculpture,  mythology,  and 
history  these  graceful  birds  have  been  used  more, 
perhaps,  than  any  other  feathered  creature.  They 
have  been  made  to  typify  grace,  beauty,  love, 
passion,  domesticity,  peacefulness,  and  courage. 
That  swans  actually  exist  in  a  wild  state  seems, 
curiously  enough,  to  be  almost  incredible  to  most 
people,  yet  not  only  do  they  exist  but  they  are, 
comparatively  speaking,  abundant ;  and  strange  to 
say,  unlike  so  many  birds,  they  appear  to  be  even 
gaming  in  numbers,  or  at  least  holding  their  own. 

Unfortunately,  they  are  not  widely  distributed, 
and  any  one  who  would  enjoy  the  remarkable  sight 
of  hundreds  of  them  must  go  to  their  habitual 
winter  resorts.  Along  the  Atlantic  coast  a  few 
are  seen  on  the  eastern  end  of  Long  Island,  while 
great  flocks  congregate  in  the  brackish  waters  of 
Currituck  Sound,  North  Carolina. 

When  the  cold  winds  from  the  north  warn  us 


158  WILD   LIFE  AND  THE   CAMERA 

of  the  coming  of  winter — that  is  to  say,  about  the 
middle  of  November — the  swans  begin  to  arrive 
from  their  breeding  grounds  in  the  Arctic  region. 
Flock  follows  flock,  until  the  dancing  waters  of 
the  Sound  sparkle  with  their  snow-white  plumage, 
and  the  air  is  filled  with  their  soft  musical  notes. 
It  is  hard  indeed  to  imagine  a  more  beautiful 
picture  than  a  large  flock  of  these  graceful  creatures 
lined  up  close  together,  looking  in  the  distance 
almost  like  snow-covered  drift  ice,  and  then  to  see 
them  rise.  At  last  we  can  appreciate  their  size  as 
their  great  wings  unfold  and  noisily  strike  the  air 
with  powerful  strokes  in  the  effort  to  carry  the 
immense  twenty-pound  bodies  clear  of  the  water. 
On  a  calm  day  they  rise  with  difficulty,  using  the 
feet  to  gain  momentum,  and  often  covering  a  dis- 
tance of  seventy-five  feet  or  more  before  leaving 
the  water.  With  a  fairly  good  breeze,  however, 
they  lift  themselves  with  astonishing  rapidity  by 
heading  directly  into  the  wind.  In  watching  them 
start  it  does  not  strike  the  observer  that  they  move 
quickly,  and  in  attempting  to  photograph  them  I 
could  scarcely  bring  myself  to  make  the  exposure 
short  enough  to  ensure  a  really  sharp  picture.  The 
fact  that  they  did  move  rapidly  was  very  evident 
when  I  saw  the  birds  on  the  focussing  glass,  for  it 
seemed  almost  impossible  to  keep  them  there,  and 
the  camera  had  to  be  swung  as  though  it  were  a 
shotgun  trained  on  a  flight  of  wind-driven  ducks. 

Once  the  swans  are  fairly  under  way  their  speed 
is  amazing — nearly  a  hundred  miles  an  hour,  and 
that,  too,  with  no  apparent  effort,  for  the  slow  wing 
motion  is  very  deceiving.  Their  endurance  is  as 


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SWAN   OF  CURRITUCK   SOUND    159 

surprising  as  their  speed,  for  they  are  said  to  travel 
a  thousand  miles  without  alighting. 

When  making  these  long  journeys  they  fly  high, 
so  high  indeed  that  they  are  often  invisible  to  the 
naked  eye.  Yet  on  a  still  night  you  can  distinctly 
hear  the  rhythmical  singing  noise  of  the  long  wings 
striking  the  air  with  force  sufficient  to  drive  the 
huge  birds  at  a  speed  greater  than  that  of  the 
fastest  express  train. 

The  flocks  are  usually  led  by  an  old  and  ex- 
perienced swan,  and  it  is  said  that  as  one  becomes 
tired  of  leading,  or  it  _ might  be  called  aerial  trail- 
breaking,  his  place  is  taken  by  another  whose 
strength  is  equal  to  the  task,  and  so  they  continue 
until  they  reach  their  destination,  the  southern 
feeding  grounds  of  the  winter  or  the  northern 
breeding  places  of  the  summer.  Occasionally  they 
stop  to  rest  in  the  region  of  the  Great  Lakes. 
Not  many  years  ago,  while  on  their  way  north,  a 
large  number  stopped  above  Niagara  Falls,  and 
more  than  a  hundred  were,  by  some  extraordinary 
mischance,  carried  over  the  falls  and  killed  in  the 
surging  waters. 

Whether  the  swans  prepare  in  any  special  way 
for  their  southward  journey  is  not  known,  but 
before  starting  north  they  indulge  in  the  curious 
habit  known  as  "  ballasting  " — that  is  to  say,  they 
eat  great  quantities  of  sand,  for  what  purpose  no 
one  knows. 

In  the  far  away  Arctic  Ocean  is  their  breeding 
place,  and  it  is  believed  that  they  mate  for  life. 
Their  nests,  which  are  placed  on  the  ground,  are 
of  immense  size,  fully  six  feet  long  and  two  feet 


160  WILD  LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

high,  and  made  of  sticks,  weeds,  and  rubbish. 
As  with  so  many  of  the  water  birds,  the  swans 
protect  their  eggs  with  a  covering  of  down 
scratched  from  their  own  breasts,  so  that,  when 
the  birds  leave  the  nest,  the  two  to  six  large, 
yellowish  eggs  are  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  possible 
thieves,  and  protected  against  any  sudden  changes 
of  temperature. 

It  is  many  years  before  the  swans  are  clothed  in 
the  feathers  of  immaculate  whiteness  which  make 
them  such  conspicuous  objects  of  beauty.  Not 
indeed  until  the  fifth  year  does  all  trace  of  grey 
disappear.  Their  first  feathers  are  entirely  grey; 
gradually  they  lighten,  becoming  mottled  with 
white,  the  neck  and  head  remaining  grey  until 
after  the  body  is  completely  white.  The  bill, 
so  conspicuously  black  in  the  mature  bird,  goes 
through  many  changes,  being  almost  white  the 
second  year,  the  black  appearing  a  year  later.  In 
the  common  American  or  "  whistling  "  swan  there 
is  a  small  oblong  spot  of  bright  yellow  on  the 
naked  skin  just  forward  of  and  below  the  eye, 
whereas  the  "trumpeter"  or  Western  species  is 
entirely  black  from  the  eye  to  the  tip  of  the  bill. 

Neither  of  these  varieties  is  the  swan  of  the 
poets  or  garden  ponds.  These  are  a  European 
species  which  are  even  more  graceful  than  our 
wild  ones.  Perhaps  the  most  conspicuous  differ- 
ence in  the  appearance  of  the  two  birds  is  in  the 
form  of  the  neck,  which  the  American  swan  holds 
straight  instead  of  in  the  graceful  curve  so  notice- 
able in  the  tame  bird. 

It  is  impossible  for  one  who  has  seen  only  the 


SWAN  OF  CURRITUCK   SOUND    161 

common  mute  swans  floating  about  in  the  artificial 
lakes  of  our  city  parks  to  imagine  the  grandeur  of 
a  flock  of  the  great  whistlers  in  their  wild  state. 
As  the  huge  birds  rise  into  the  air  it  seems  as  if 
an  aerial  regatta  were  being  sailed  overhead,  the 
swans,  each  with  a  wing  spread  of  six  or  seven 
feet,  moving  like  yachts  under  full  sail.  The  sight 
is  one  of  the  most  impressive  in  nature. 

During  the  winter  months  swans  may  usually  be 
seen  in  company  with  immense  numbers  of  Canada 
geese,  and  often  with  ducks  of  several  species. 

Like  many  of  their  smaller  relatives,  swans 
usually  fly  in  wedge-shaped  flocks,  especially  when 
migrating.  The  habits  of  geese  and  swans  are 
more  or  less  similar,  grass  and  roots  being  their 
chief  food,  but  one  rarely  sees  a  swan  tipping  after 
the  manner  of  the  river  ducks,  and  never  diving. 
On  windy  days  the  flocks  separate,  the  geese  going 
under  the  shelter  of  the  land,  while  for  some  reason 
the  swans  prefer  a  lee  shore. 

Fortunately  sportsmen  have  never  seriously 
regarded  the  swan  as  a  game  bird  to  any  great 
extent,  though  it  is  true  that  they  shoot  them  when 
opportunity  occurs.  Their  wildness,  however, 
almost  prohibits  stalking  them,  though  if  it  were 
allowed  (and  fortunately  at  present  it  is  not)  they 
might  occasionally  be  shot  from  fast  launches. 
Perhaps  the  greatest  safeguard  is  in  the  fact  that 
rifle  shooting  is  prohibited,  at  least  nominally.  As 
an  article  of  food  the  swan  does  not  appeal  to  most 
people — in  fact  only  the  younger  birds,  known  as 
"  blue  swans,"  are  fit  to  eat.  So  on  this  account 
they  do  not  suffer  from  that  greatest  of  all  enemies 

W.L.C.  M 


162  WILD   LIFE  AND   THE  CAMERA 

to  birds — the  "market  hunter,"  the  man  whose 
wholesale  slaughter  of  our  wild  creatures  is  a 
disgrace  to  the  country.  Legitimate  shooting  by 
honest  sportsmen  will  never  do  much  harm;  we 
might  even  say  that  the  sportsman  is  the  best 
friend  the  bird  has,  for  to  him  is  due  the  passing  of 
sensible  laws  which  really  protect  birds.  Then,  too, 
the  sportsman  sometimes  replenishes  the  stock  of 
birds,  or  at  least  takes  pains  to  protect  them  during 
the  breeding  time,  while  the  market  hunter  simply 
destroys. 

Down  in  Currituck  nothing  is  thought  of  a 
single  boat  bringing  in  over  a  hundred  ducks  of 
one  species  as  a  result  of  a  day's  injurious  work — 
work  made  still  more  injurious  and  deadly  since 
the  introduction  of  the  unsportsmanlike  slaughter 
machine,  the  "pump"  gun.  If  this  ghastly 
business  is  to  be  allowed  it  will  be  but  a  very  short 
time  before  our  game  birds  will  exist  only  as  a 
memory.  The  one  way  to  protect  with  any  degree 
of  success  is  to  prohibit  absolutely  all  sale  of  native 
wild  creatures,  birds  as  well  as  animals. 

Unfortunately,  there  is  not  space  here  to  go  into 
this  subject,  scarcely  even  to  touch  upon  it,  but  we 
cannot  help  wondering  what  would  become  of  the 
noble  swan  should  public  taste  ever  demand  it  as 
an  article  of  food.  How  long  before  it  would  be 
driven  from  our  coast  to  join  the  ranks  of  the 
departed  buffalo  ?  If  only  the  people  would  throw 
off  the  cloak  of  apathy  and  force  their  representa- 
tives to  pay  heed  to  the  warnings  of  the  few  (too 
few,  alas  !)  men  and  women  who  have  given  thought 
to  the  subject  of  bird  preservation,  so  that  decent 


SWAN  OF  CURRITUCK  SOUND   163 

laws  might  be  passed  and  the  birds  given  the 
protection  they  so  greatly  need !  This  is  a  subject 
which  should  interest  everyone,  whether  sportsman 
or  not,  for  without  the  birds  how  much  we  should 
lose  in  our  enjoyment  of  life  in  the  country  ! 


M  2 


TWO  'POSSUMS  AND  SEVERAL 
MISTAKES 


CHAPTER  XII 

TWO   'POSSUMS   AND   SEVERAL  MISTAKES 

Two  'possums  each  made  mistakes,  with  the 
result  that  they  both  got  themselves  into  many 
kinds  of  trouble,  with  almost  tragic  consequences. 

As  we  know,  'possums,  like  owls,  usually  travel 
only  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  the  stars,  or  by  no 
light  at  all.  When  all  the  world  is  hushed  in  sleep, 
hen  roosts  are  much  easier  to  rob,  for  except  the 
cackling  of  a  hen — and  even  that  should  not  happen 
if  the  job  is  neatly  done — there  need  be  no  noise  or 
fuss  of  any  kind.  Even  the  watch-dog,  keen-eared 
as  he  is,  may  sleep  on  oblivious  of  all  that  the 
'possums  are  doing  within  his  precinct.  But,  as 
already  stated,  the  two  'possums  with  which  we  are 
dealing  made  mistakes,  and  the  first  of  these 
mistakes  was  neither  more  nor  less  than  that  they 
came  out  by  daylight.  The  day  was  dull  and 
grey,  it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  it  was  day,  and 
therefore  not  the  time  for  'possums  to  be  out. 

'Possum  One  (as  we  will  call  him),  who  had 
selected  a  temporary  home  in  a  drain-pipe  only  the 
night  before,  had  been  disturbed,  because  some 
thoughtless  man  had  turned  a  flood  of  water  into 
his  pipe  home  and  had  given  him  a  most  unwelcome 
bath.  So  he  determined,  force  of  circumstances 
urging  the  determination,  to  make  for  a  certain 
large  gum  tree,  whose  branches  overhung  the 


168  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

muddy  waters  of  the  Passaic  River.  In  this  tree 
was  his  regular  nest.  A  comfortable  one  it  was, 
too — quantities  of  dead  dry  leaves  placed  in  a  hole 
in  the  trunk  about  ten  feet  from  the  ground.  The 
hole  faced  towards  the  south,  so  that  when  the  sun 
shone  he  had  the  benefit  of  its  warmth.  Curled  up 
in  this  hole,  covered  with  leaves,  some  muskrat  fur 
and  chicken  feathers  (whence  came  those  feathers, 
Mr.  'Possum  ?),  he  had  spent  all  last  winter. 
When  all  around  him  was  wrapped  in  winter's 
white  winding-sheet,  the  snow  had  piled  up  over 
the  entrance  of  his  home,  but  the  warmth  of  his 
body  had  melted  it  away  and  left  his  doorway 
clear. 

Now  it  was  autumn,  late  November,  and  all  was 
cold  and  dreary.  The  leaves,  with  which  the 
ground  was  so  thickly  strewn,  rustled  loudly  as  he 
shuffled  along  towards  his  gum  tree.  Arriving 
there  he  stopped,  for  a  suspicious  odour  greeted  him, 
the  unmistakable  proof  that  but  recently  another 
'possum  had  been  there.  The  invisible  trail  led  up 
the  tree.  Worse  and  worse  !  Bad  enough  to  have 
anyone  come  to  his  tree,  but  to  climb  up  looked 
suspiciously  as  though  the  stranger  had  pre-empted 
his  own  home.  Now  came  the  question :  What 
could  he  do  if  this  stranger  happened  to  |be  larger 
than  he  was  ?  Would  he  have  to  give  up  his  home, 
and  that,  too,  without  a  struggle  ?  Or  should  he 
try  to  coax  him  out  ?  Better  first  investigate.  So 
up  the  tree  he  went,  after  the  slow,  clumsy  method 
of  his  kind,  until  he  reached  his  doorstep,  and  then 
— well,  he  slid  down  again,  just  a  few  feet,  and  all 
because  a  long-pointed  nose  protruded  from  the 


A  long  nose  protruded  from  the  nest. 


TWO  'POSSUMS  169 

nest  of  leaves  and  feathers,  and  the  nose  was 
followed  in  turn  by  an  open,  well-toothed  mouth 
and  a  quite  unnecessary  amount  of  snarling,  of  that 
quiet  guttural  kind  that  'possums  delight  in. 

'Possum  One  cared  not  to  risk  an  encounter  with 
one  so  much  larger  than  himself,  and  so  ill-tempered 
too.  It  was  better  to  wait  a  short  time,  just  to  let 
his  amiable  tenant  see  that  he  was  not  afraid.  Oh 
dear,  no !  Never  even  thought  of  such  a  thing  1 
Then,  to  show  how  entirely  friendly  was  his  visit, 
he  wished  to  know  if  'Possum  Two  would  care  to 
join  him  in  a  walk  to  the  hen-house.  It  was  only 
a  short  distance  away,  and  as  it  was  late  in  the 
afternoon  he  felt  sure  the  chickens  would  be  home, 
and  even  if  they  were  not,  they  could  hide  and  wait 
until  they  did  return.  All  this  was  said  in  the 
same  sort  of  language  that  a  dog  uses  when  he 
comes  into  a  room  where  another  dog  is  lying,  and 
asks  him  what  he  thinks  of  going  off  for  a  hunt ; 
and  off  they  go,  one  at  a  time,  so  as  not  to  attract 
attention  until  clear  of  the  house.  So  went  our 
'possums.  In  the  lead  was  'Possum  One,  with 
'Possum  Two  following  a  few  yards  behind.  Up 
the  lane  they  went,  keeping  careful  lookout.  When 
halfway  along  they  saw  a  man  coming  their  way, 
so  they  quickly  (and  'possums  can  do  things 
quickly)  crept  in  between  the  stones  of  the  wall 
that  edged  the  lane.  Their  enemy  having  passed, 
they  came  out  cautiously  and  once  more  resumed 
their  way  to  the  farmyard.  On  arriving  there 
'Possum  One  went  ahead,  on  past  the  corn-stack 
and  the  stables,  past  the  corn-crib  and  towards  the 
small  hen-house.  Everything  seemed  quiet  and 


170  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

therefore  safe,  and  soon  he  saw  'Possum  Two,  who 
had  crept  along  the  fence,  standing  on  the  top  of 
the  hen-house.  Then  the  two  would-be  thieves 
entered,  one  by  the  window  and  the  other  by  the 
door,  but  the  hen-house  was  empty  of  hens,  so  out 
came  the  two  prowlers,  disappointment  showing  in 
their  dejected  appearance.  The  shutting  of  a  door 
in  the  farmhouse  near  by  disturbed  their  peace  of 
mind.  'Possum  One,  on  coming  out  of  the  door, 
scrambled  quickly  on  to  the  roof  of  the  hen-house, 
while  'Possum  Two  remained  in  the  window. 
Danger  signals  sounded  loudly  on  the  ground  as  a 
man  came  walking  down  the  pathway.  At  this 
moment  the  'possums  made  another  mistake,  for 
the  man  would  probably  have  passed  them  unnoticed 
had  they  not  both  snarled,  and  thereby  attracted 
his  attention. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  man  was  not  an 
American,  and  in  that  accidental  fact  lay  the 
'possums'  one  chance  of  escape.  An  American 
farmer  would  have  picked  up  a  fence  rail  and 
with  it  promptly  ended  the  lives  of  the  "  darned 
little  varmints,"  who,  even  though  they  were 
thieves,  stole  only  that  they  might  live.  But  the 
man  was  an  Irishman,  fresh  from  St.  Patrick's  Isle. 
He  had  never  seen  a  'possum,  nor  did  he  know 
anything  of  their  peculiar  ways.  Only  the  |week 
before,  he  had  been  engaged  as  a  farm  hand,  and 
had  been  left  on  the  place  while  the  farmer  and  his 
sons  had  gone  to  the  polls  to  vote,  for  the  day  was 
election  day,  hence  the  quietness  of  the  farm 
which  had  inveigled  our  two  marsupials  from  their 
retreats. 


'Possums.     "  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came  until  his  nose  was  visible  over 
the  edge  of  the  large  knob." 


TWO  'POSSUMS  171 

Now  when  Dennis  O'Connor  saw  the  two 
strange  beasts  his  surprise  was  very  great,  and 
after  uttering  a  few  remarks  that  are  best  left  out 
of  print — for,  after  all,  they  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  story — he  turned,  brave  man  though  he 
was,  and  made  straight  for  the  house.  He  remem- 
bered having  noticed  a  gun  standing  against  the 
wall  near  the  chimney-corner.  With  such  a  weapon 
he  feared  no  animal  under  the  size  of  a  dog,  and 
he  hurried  out  to  do  battle  against  the  small  silver- 
haired  animals.  These  same  animals  had  been 
making  the  most  of  their  time.  No  sooner  was 
Dennis  out  of  sight  than  they  scurried  along  as 
fast  as  their  short  legs  would  carry  them  to  the 
apple  orchard.  Once  there,  each  one  proceeded  to 
climb  an  apple  tree.  'Possum  One  in  his  hurry 
selected  a  tree  so  small  that  it  afforded  him  no 
hiding-place,  so  he  must  perforce  come  down  again, 
and  that  he  did  in  the  quickest  possible  time,  cling- 
ing to  the  tree  with  his  naked  prehensile  tail  as  he 
partly  slid  and  partly  climbed  down.  Once  on  the 
ground,  he  made  directly  for  the  nearest  tree,  which 
chanced  to  be  the  same  tree  that  'Possum  Two  had 
chosen.  Here  was  still  another  to  add  to  the  grow- 
ing list  of  mistakes,  and  like  the  proverbial  drop 
that  overflowed  the  equally  proverbial  bucket,  it 
proved  the  undoing  of  their  otherwise  successful 
retreat. 

One  'Possum  might  hide  in  an  apple  tree  and 
remain  undiscovered  because  of  his  colour,  which 
matches  the  rough  silver-grey  bark  of  the  tree  very 
closely,  but  two  'possums  could  scarcely  hope  to 
find  places  of  concealment  in  the  same  tree.  So 


172  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

thought  'Possum  Two  as  he  sat  on  a  large  knob 
that  protruded  from  the  side  of  the  tree.  He  heard 
the  scratching  sounds  of  Tossum  One  as  he  climbed 
the  tree.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came,  until  his 
nose  was  visible  over  the  edge  of  the  large  knob. 
What  might  have  happened  is  not  known.  'Possum 
Two's  vigorous  protesting  at  his  friend's  arrival  was 
cut  short  by  a  loud  report  and  a  scattering  of  small 
pieces  of  bark  where  the  shot  had  struck  the  tree 
just  above  the  'possums'  heads.  Scarcely  had  the 
echoes  of  the  report  died  away  when  Dennis  saw 
two  'possums  fall  to  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  the 
apple  tree,  and  he  congratulated  himself  on  "  the 
foine  shot "  he  had  made,  and  forthwith  marched  up 
to  the  seemingly  dead  animals.  "  Shure,  but  they're 
did  as  nails,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  picked  up  one  in 
a  most  gingerly  way,  quickly  dropping  it  again. 
Yet  there  was  no  blood  visible,  but  in  his  excite- 
ment he  had  not  noticed  a  detail  so  altogether 
trivial.  Enough  for  him  that  the  two  animals 
were  dead,  and  he  himself  was  responsible  for  their 
slaughter,  and  he  turned  to  lay  down  the  gun  that 
he  might  light  his  pipe,  preparatory  to  carrying  the 
animals  back  to  the  house.  As  he  stood  still  trying 
to  light  his  short  clay  pipe,  his  back  was  toward  the 
'possums.  Everything  was  so  quiet  that  'Possum 
Two  decided  to  have  a  look  and,  without  changing 
his  position,  he  opened  his  small,  dark  eyes,  closing 
them  instantly  when  he  discovered  the  broad  back 
of  his  enemy  between  him  and  the  sky. 

It  was  a  close  shave,  for  at  that  very  moment 
Dennis,  his  pipe  lighted,  picked  up  the  gun,  and, 
catching  hold  of  the  two  'possums  by  their  rat-like 


- 


TWO  'POSSUMS  173 

tails,  took  his  way  to  the  house.  Once  there  he 
threw  the  two  "dead"  animals  on  the  steps,  and 
leaving  them  he  turned  and  walked  toward  the 
gate,  for  he  heard  sounds  of  the  farmer  returning. 
Round  a  bend  in  the  lane  came  a  two-seated  buck- 
board,  mud-bespattered  and  rickety,  and  in  it  sat 
the  farmer  and  his  boys.  Dennis  O'Connor,  all 
excitement  and  pride,  rushed  up  to  them  and  told 
the  family  all  about  "  the  two  queer  bastes  Oi  hev 
kilt,"  adding  quickly  that  he  had  killed  "  thim  both 
wid  the  one  shot  from  the  fowlin'  pace."  On  being 
asked  what  he  had  done  with  his  game,  he  pointed 

exultingly  to  the  clean,  bare  steps,  but 

It  was  many  months  before  Dennis  could  be 
persuaded  to  give  up  his  belief  that  someone  had 
stolen  his  'possums.  He  never  saw  them  again, 
and  the  story  of  "  playing  'possum  "  is,  and  always 
will  be,  a  sore  point  with  Dennis  O'Connor, 


A  FISHING  TRIP  IN  THE  HIGH 
SIERRAS  OF  CALIFORNIA  FOR 
GILBERT  AND  GOLDEN  TROUT 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  FISHING  TRIP  IN  THE  HIGH  SIERRAS  OF  CALIFORNIA 
FOR  GILBERT  AND  GOLDEN  TROUT 

A  TRIP  across  the  continent  to  the  Kern  River 
and  Volcano  Creek,  the  home  of  the  gilbert  and 
the  golden  trout,  was  the  genial  task  which  fell 
to  my  lot  this  month  of  July,  1905.  An  alluring 
task  to  one  who  had  never  before  been  west  and  to 
whom  fishing  was  the  most  fascinating  of  all  sports. 
Much  I  had  heard  and  read  of  the  wonders  of  the 
High  Sierras  of  California,  the  beauty  of  the  scenery, 
the  extraordinary  climate  and  the  never-failing 
abundance  of  fish.  But  though  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  as  to  the  beauty  of  the  country,  I  confess  the 
preconceived  idea  fell  far,  very  far  short  of  the 
reality.  To  give  any  idea  of  the  actual  conditions 
is  impossible,  for  who  can  describe  this  country 
and  feel  that  he  has  done  even  the  scantiest  justice 
to  his  subject?  Yet  1  feel  that  to  ignore  it 
were  worse  even  than  a  most  inadequate  attempt 
at  a  description ;  to  him  who  has  not  had  the  good 
fortune  to  visit  this  paradise,  a  few  words  offered 
with  humble  apologies  may  not  prove  amiss.  Be 
he  fisherman  or  merely  a  traveller  in  search  of  a 
wonderful  outdoor  trip,  he  must  be  equally  im- 
pressed by  what  he  sees  in  nature,  especially  in 
such  a  region  as  the  Kern  River.  In  fact,  I  often 
wonder  whether  fishing  is  much  more  than  a  happy 

W.L.C.  N 


178  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

excuse  for  being  out  in  the  open,  out  among  the 
mountains,  the  streams  and  the  innumerable  de- 
lights which  nature  offers  us  with  such  a  bountiful 
hand.  If  it  were  the  fish  alone  we  wanted,  why 
leave  the  sea  with  its  endless  varieties  of  fish,  big 
and  small,  gamey  and  sluggish  ?  No  stream  offers 
such  "  catches,"  but  so  few  get  much  real  pleasure 
from  simply  hooking  and  pulling  up  fish. 

The  pleasure  is  largely  in  the  surroundings.  All 
our  senses  are  thrilled  and  the  blood  dances  in  our 
veins ;  we  listen  to  the  sound  of  the  bubbling  water, 
a  fitting  accompaniment  to  the  delicious  music  of 
the  birds  as  they  sing  their  love  songs,  or  watch  the 
busy  little  feathered  housekeepers,  some  gathering 
material  for  their  nests,  others  with  hungry  young 
at  home,  eagerly  darting  after  the  incautious  insects 
that  frequent  the  waterways.  Along  the  banks  are 
flowers  nodding  their  heads  to  the  passing  breeze 
as  they  nestle  among  the  rich  green  moss.  Every- 
thing interests,  for  to  the  healthy  man  everything 
out  of  doors  is  beautiful,  nowhere  more  so  than 
along  dancing  rock-strewn  streams,  where  life  in  so 
many  forms  is  concentrated.  The  fish  you  may 
catch  are  an  incident  only,  a  delightful  incident, 
which  adds  immeasurably  to  your  satisfaction  and 
pleasure  and  makes  the  day  a  complete  success. 
It  is  well  enough  for  the  man  who  does  not  fish  to 
say  that  he  gets  just  as  much  fun  out  of  a  day's 
outing,  that  he  can  enjoy  the  birds  and  the  flowers 
even  more  because  his  mind  is  not  distracted.  I 
doubt  it.  Complete  pleasure  is  seldom  obtained 
by  one  thing  alone,  it  is  more  usually  the  blending 
of  many,  often  totally  different,  sensations  which 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  179 

constitutes  a  sensation  of  perfect  pleasure.  The 
fisherman  frequently,  without  realising  it,  blends 
many  subtle  sensations ;  he  caters  to  many  senses, 
and  the  result  is  bliss,  often  absolute  bliss  and  satis- 
faction which  make  him  the  most  patient,  per- 
severing man  on  earth,  even  while  at  times  they 
unfortunately  render  him  utterly  selfish. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  my  subject  and  had 
better  abandon  the  attempt  to  analyse  the  philo- 
sophy of  angling,  and  return  with  equal  futility 
to  attempt  describing  the  beauty  of  the  High 
Sierras.  Let  the  reader  come  with  me  and  we 
will  enter  the  country  together.  Quickly  we  will 
pass  over  the  long,  dusty  drive  from  Visalia,  during 
which  the  heat  parches  the  skin  and  renders  the 
tongue  dry  and  leathery,  along  the  road  of  no 
shade,  where  a  man  who  would  rest  must  find  the 
slim  shadow  of  a  slender  telegraph  pole  to  shelter 
his  spine  from  the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun.  A 
few  hours  and  it  is  past.  We  reach  the  foot-hills, 
where  there  is  vegetation  and  shade.  In  the  last 
golden  light  of  the  setting  sun  we  reach  our 
destination,  a  small  inn,  where  we  put  up  for  the 
night  and  where  we  find  our  pack  mules  and  saddle- 
horses  awaiting  us  according  to  instructions.  Every- 
thing is  made  ready  for  an  early  morning  start,  for 
we  shall  have  to  travel  some  forty  miles  or  more  if 
we  would  halve  the  distance  to  the  Kern  River. 
Long  before  dawn  we  are  up,  and  after  a  hasty 
breakfast  the  balky  mules  are  safely  loaded  with 
our  simple  outfit :  food,  fishing  tackle,  cameras  and 
warm  blankets,  and  that  is  all.  While  the  valley 
below  is  still  slumbering  in  the  purple  haze  of  early 

N2 


180  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

morn  we  start  along  the  upward  trail.  Soon  the 
sun  rises  and  the  heat  makes  us  long  for  the  higher 
altitudes.  Our  way  is  through  fairly  open  country, 
dry  as  powder,  and  clothed  with  wild  oats  and 
yellowish  grasses,  scattered  dry  oaks  and  other 
greyish  green  trees,  giving  the  country  the  appear- 
ance of  a  dried  park,  for  nowhere  except  near  water 
is  there  any  green.  Down  in  a  partly  dry  river  bed, 
which  gleams  intensely  white  in  the  glare  of  the 
sun,  we  see  a  huge  log  stranded  among  the  smooth 
boulders.  This  log,  about  sixteen  feet  in  diameter, 
we  are  told,  is  part  of  a  redwood  tree.  It  has 
lain  in  this  river-bed  no  man  can  say  how  many 
years.  Then  we  realise  that  above  there  is  much 
to  be  seen,  and  we  may  yet  ride  through  the  world- 
famous  forests  of  the  sequoia  or  big  tree. 

Gradually  the  country  changes,  vegetation 
becomes  more  abundant  and  varied,  and  as  we 
go  higher  the  colour  is  greener  and  more  pleasing 
and  restful  to  the  eyes.  On  we  go  ever  upward, 
along  narrow,  steep  trails  overhung  with  shrubbery, 
through  dense  thickets  of  syringa  and  white  lilac, 
whose  fragrance  is  almost  overpowering.  Later 
on  the  sun  drops  to  the  westward  ;  we  reach  the 
conifer  forests  ;  immense  spruces  and  firs,  with 
here  and  there  a  small  cluster  of  diminutive  red- 
woods, small  of  their  kind  but  nearly  200  feet 
high,  lifting  their  thinly-leafed  tops  high  above 
all  surrounding  trees.  Flowers  become  abun- 
dant— the  exquisite  mariposa  lily,  lupins  of  many 
colours ;  but  we  are  not  yet  in  the  land  of 
flowers.  Evening  overtakes  us  as  we  reach  the 
expected  camp  ground,  and  the  selection  of  a  camp 


•VVS 


.3. 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  181 

site  is  dependent  entirely  on  the  natural  pastures 
which  are  widely  scattered.  We  are  nearly 
8,000  feet  above  the  burning  hot  valley  of  St. 
Joachim.  As  the  sun  leaves  us  we  shiver  with 
cold  and  look  with  commiseration  towards  that 
valley  where  people  are  seething  in  a  temperature 
of  110  degrees  or  more.  Camp  is  quickly  made. 
The  process  is  simplicity  itself;  horses  and  mules, 
unsaddled  and  hobbled,  are  turned  out  to  feed  on 
the  succulent  grass  of  a  neighbouring  wild  meadow. 
A  fire  is  built  and  a  simple  meal  is  cooked.  We 
have  no  tent,  for  none  is  needed  during  this  dry 
season;  we  are  content  to  find  a  piece  of  smooth 
ground,  roll  ourselves  in  the  warm  blankets,  and  sleep 
till  dawn.  Fortunately,  the  blankets  are  heavy,  for 
the  night  is  bitterly  cold,  and  as  we  rise  we  see  the 
blue-white  frost  on  the  grass.  Breakfast  eaten,  we 
go  for  the  animals.  We  remarked  that  the  tinkling 
of  the  mule  bells  no  longer  sounded,  and  we  are 
told  that  it  ps  quite  customary  for  the  animals, 
when  their  hunger  is  appeased,  to  go  into  the 
dry  woods  where  it  is  warmer,  so  we  commence  a 
careful  search  for  the  missing  creatures  and  finally 
discover  them  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the 
camp.  After  finding  them,  the  cussedness  of  the 
mule,  so  world-famed,  asserts  itself,  and  notwith- 
standing all  our  efforts,  over  an  hour  passes  before 
we  finally  have  them  in  hand.  The  effect  of  the 
elevation  is  very  noticeable,  and  any  attempt  at 
running  results  in  the  most  distressing  symptom  of 
suffocation.  Finally  we  are  off  again.  The  trail, 
scarcely  visible,  winds  up  and  down  steep  gorges — 
in  places  so  steep  as  to  appear  impossible  for  beast 


182  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

or  man — through  dark  forests  of  magnificent 
timber,  along  glades  where  the  ground  is  a 
veritable  carpet  of  many-coloured  flowers.  Flowers 
of  all  seasons,  blooming  together,  make  the  most 
of  the  all  too  short  summer ;  the  earliest  and  the 
latest,  utterly  disregarding  the  season.  Columbines, 
gentians,  rich  masses  of  scarlet  painted-cup,  are 
here,  lupins  in  patches  of  purple,  blue,  and  white, 
glorious  yellow  sunflowers,  and  many,  many  others, 
small  and  large,  brilliant  and  delicate,  whose  names 
I  do  not  know,  but  whose  beauty  make  a  picture 
delightful  and  wonderful  beyond  all  power  of 
description.  No  garden  laid  out  with  tenderest 
care  and  most  consummate  skill  could  compare 
with  this  garden  of  the  Sierras,  nestling  in  this 
valley,  watered  by  melting  snow,  kissed  into  life 
by  clear  and  unclouded  sunlight,  and  guarded  by 
the  encircling  mountains  whose  summits,  rugged, 
bare  and  treeless,  cut  the  deep  blue  sky  with 
startling  clearness. 

All  sense  of  distance  is  lost  in  such  a  climate. 
Huge  snow-polished  faces  of  solid  rock  hundreds, 
even  thousands  of  feet  in  height,  appeared  mere 
boulders  of  insignificant  size.  On  we  go  through 
all  this  dazzling  beauty,  making  our  way  toward  a 
pass  5,000  feet  above  the  garden  valley :  it  is  ten 
miles  away,  yet  it  seems  that  we  must  reach  it 
within  a  few  minutes.  Higher  and  higher  we 
climb  up  the  face  of  the  mountain,  zig-zagging 
along  the  perilously  narrow  trail  which  is  scarcely 
visible  in  the  coarse  gravel.  As  we  go,  this  loose 
gravel,  started  by  the  animals'  feet,  rattles  down 
the  steep  slopes  into  the  valley  1,000  feet  or  more 


Hiding  along  the  steep  Slopes  on  the  way  to  the  Kern  Eiver. 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  183 

directly  below  us.  A  mis-step,  and  we  too  should 
slide  down,  down  to  certain  death  among  the  far- 
away flowers ;  but  the  horses  know  well  their 
work;  sure-footed  as  goats  they  cling  to  every 
available  irregularity ;  rising  up  the  steep  slides, 
they  bound  up  a  few  steps  at  a  time,  then  rest  a 
moment  to  regain  their  wind.  Wonderful  little 
wiry  animals  are  these  mountain  ponies.  No  horse 
reared  in  the  plains  could  do  such  work ;  the  stiff 
climbing,  coupled  with  the  high  altitude,  would 
soon  kill  them. 

Long  before  we  reach  the  pass  10,000  feet  high, 
we  notice  a  great  change  in  the  trees.  The  tall 
straight  firs  give  way  to  shorter  junipers  whose 
gnarled  branches  bear  silent  testimony  to  the  awful 
tempests  which  rage  through  the  Sierras  in  winter 
time,  snow-laden  hurricanes  which  prune  the 
weaklings,  and  often  tear  up  huge  trees  whose 
roots  have  lost  their  hold.  How  wonderful  a  sight 
must  these  storms  present  if  one  could  but  witness 
them  from  a  place  of  security;  but  these  regions 
are  locked  securely  by  the  key  of  winter  against  all 
intruders  during  nature's  wildest  revels.  Why 
should  trees  select  such  sites,  when  every  inch  of 
growth  is  gained  against  such  terrific  odds  ?  Why 
not  choose  the  sheltered  valleys  where  they  could 
live  and  thrive  in  peace  ?  Who  shall  say  ?  This 
constant  conflict  between  nature's  different  forces, 
this  striving  after  that  which  is  most  difficult  of 
attainment,  seems  to  be  one  of  the  mysteries  of 
life.  It  is  apparently  this  struggle  which  makes 
life  so  well  worth  living,  not  for  man  alone,  but  for 
many  of  the  so-called  lower  forms  of  creation, 


184  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

As  we  reach  the  wind-swept  pass  the  curious 
growth  of  the  trees  is  even  more  impressive  than 
lower  down ;  many  are  merely  twisted,  distorted 
trunks  with  a  single   and   almost  leafless   branch 
struggling  bravely  on  the  sheltered  side,  hugging 
closely  the  grim  parent  that  has  given  it  birth. 
The  ground  is  almost  utterly  bare  of  vegetation,  the 
very  soil  has  been  blown  away,  leaving  the  rocks 
exposed  and  naked,  smoothly  polished  by  the  wind- 
blown sand  and  gravel.      Beyond  this  rugged  fore- 
ground of  conflict  how  great  is  the  change — valley 
after  valley,  green,  smiling  and  peaceful,  nestling 
among  the   countless   mountains,  whose  peaks  of 
endless  shapes   and   sizes   continue  beyond  man's 
vision  even  in  that  clear,  keen  atmosphere.      Some 
are  so   high   that  their  summits  are  still  in  their 
winter  garment  of  immaculate  snow.  Directly  below 
is  our  goal,  the  valley  of  the  Kern  River,  the  excuse 
which  has  brought  us  through  this  land  of  enchant- 
ment.    Three  thousand  miles  or  more  of  hot  and 
dusty  railway  travel,   and   here  we  see  it,  a  tiny 
silver  line,  twisting  in  sinuous  ways  through  gorge 
and   valley,  thousands  of  feet  below   us.     A  still 
smaller  glint  of  silver  coming  into  the  Kern  River, 
we   are  told  is  Volcano  Creek,  the  home  of  the 
golden   trout,   the   fish  whose   name   and  beauty 
has  lured  us  to  forsake  the  beaten  trails  and  seek 
this  far  distant  spot.      But  we  must  not  linger  on 
the  mountain  top,  beautiful  though  the  view  is  ;  the 
lengthening  shadows  are  darkening  the  valleys,  we 
have  still  many  miles  to   go  before  reaching  the 
Kern  River. 

The  trail  leads  steadily  downward,  so  steep  in 


The  Kern  Eiver  Valley 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  185 

places  that  as  we  lean  back  the  horses'  heads  are 
almost  lost  to  view.      It  is  slow  work,  and  the  sun 
sets  while  we  are  still  two  hours  from  the  camping 
ground.      A  chilly,  gruesome  ride  that  last  hour  is 
now  in  the  darkness  of  the  forest.      No  trail  could 
we  see,  and  so  on  the  judgment  of  the  horses  must 
we  entirely  depend,  while  we  devote  our  attention 
to    avoiding    stray    overhanging   branches  which 
frequently  whip   our   faces   smartly   as   we   pass. 
Sore   and   tired   after  the   long   day's  journey  of 
nearly  fifty  miles,  we  reached  the  wild  pasture  near 
which  was  to  be  our  camping  ground.     Scant  time 
was  spent  in  preparing  a  meal.      Some  cold  water 
and  dry  food  were  good  enough,  after  which  we 
rolled  ourselves  in  our  blankets  and,  though  the 
ground  was  hard,  were  soon  sleeping  peacefully, 
beneath  the  murmuring  of  the  tall  forest  trees, 
dreaming  of  the  sport  which  the  morning  promised. 
If  we  accept   the  theory  that  the  pleasure  of 
fishing  lies  more  in  the  surroundings  than  in  the 
actual  catching  of  the  fish,  then  I  would  proclaim, 
without   fear  of  contradiction,   that  no   form   of 
angling  can  compare  with  fishing  for  the  rainbow 
trout  of  the  roaring  mountain  streams  of  California 
and  Oregon.     In  the  wildest  imaginings  of  the 
most  fertile  brain  it  would  be  impossible  to  make 
even    a   mental  picture   of  the  wonders   of  this 
western  scenery;  and  surely  no  setting  could  be 
more  inspiring  to  the  lover  of  the  gentle  art  of 
angling.       Snow-born   streamlets,  trickling  down 
from  the  lofty  peaks,  join  one  another  as  they  work 
their   way   downwards.     A   dancing,  merry  gang 
they  are,  yet  daring,  too,  for  no  obstacle  may  stay 


186  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

their  path ;  like  children  they  are,  bubblingly  light- 
hearted,  but  they  grow  old  with  bewildering 
rapidity,  and  in  the  dignified  impetuosity  of  their 
maturity  they  become  rivers,  powerful  enough 
to  carve  great  paths  through  the  rock-clad 
mountains,  and  through  the  deep  canons  thus 
formed  they  march  unceasingly  toward  the  great 
Pacific  Ocean.  It  is  to  these  canons,  so  deep  that 
the  sun  can  scarce  find  its  way  to  the  water,  that 
he  who  would  coax  the  rainbow  trout  from  the 
dark  green  pools  must  betake  himself.  There, 
under  the  shading  branch  of  the  giant  cedars  and 
pines,  a  man  may  thank  God  that  he  is  living  and 
that  fortune  has  brought  him  to  this  favoured 
spot.  The  fishing — well,  after  all,  that  is  only  an 
excuse  for  being  there,  a  delightful  excuse  I 
thought  on  that  memorable  morning,  when  the 
dancing  waters  of  the  Kern  River  awakened  me, 
and  called  out  a  bewitching  invitation  to  come  and 
try  my  luck  with  the  fish.  No  second  bid  was 
necessary ;  the  rod,  slightly  over  five  ounces  in 
weight,  was  quickly  assembled,  and  before  the 
sun  had  bestowed  his  morning  kiss  on  the  river 
I  cast  my  flies  for  the  first  time  on  a  western 
mountain  stream. 

Many  fascinating  stories  have  been  told  me  of 
the  rainbow  trout,  and  of  the  glorious  country 
in  which  they  live.  The  country  was  visible, 
and  certainly  the  descriptions  had  done  it  but 
scant  justice.  Would  the  fishing  prove  equally 
satisfying  ? 

Filled  with  delightful  expectancy,  I  cast  the  flies 
on  the  ripples  and  pools,  but  for  half  an  hour  there 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  187 

was  no  response.  Then  like  a  flash  the  river  was 
illuminated  as  suddenly  as  though  an  electric  light 
had  been  turned  on.  The  sun,  rising  in  the  clear 
blue  sky,  had  gained  the  mountain  top,  then,  as 
though  pleased  with  the  effort,  the  brilliant  beam 
of  light  came  with  almost  frantic  speed  down  the 
steep  slopes,  over  sombre  forests  and  massive  rocks, 
till  it  reached  the  river,  where  it  lightened  the 
deepest  shadows,  and  transformed  the  gloomy 
waters  into  a  mass  of  sparkling  iridescent  colours. 
It  all  happened  so  quickly  that  for  the  moment  I 
was  more  interested  in  watching  the  kaleidoscopic 
transformation  than  in  my  fishing,  and  I  carelessly 
allowed  the  flies  to  drift  into  the  eddy  behind  a 
large  boulder,  where  they  sank  several  inches  below 
the  surface.  A  splash  brought  me  to  my  fishing 
senses,  and  instinctively  I  raised  the  rod — too  late, 
however,  for  I  could  not  get  in  the  slack  before 
the  fish  had  escaped.  As  quickly  as  possible 
another  cast  dropped  the  flies  in  the  same  place, 
and  a  big  swirl  showed  that  the  fish  was  still  eager. 
With  my  heart  beating,  as  I  trust  it  always  will 
when  I  am  casting  for  a  fish  that  is  in  a  rising 
mood,  I  once  more  dropped  the  flies  above  the 
stone  and  let  them  sink  a  little  as  they  were 
carried  into  the  eddying  pool.  A  splash,  a  bending 
rod,  a  tightening  line,  and  the  reel  sang  merrily 
as  the  fish  bolted  for  the  shelter  of  a  large  over- 
hanging rock.  Cautiously  I  checked  the  out- 
running line.  The  fish  objected  to  this  curbing 
and  showed  his  resentment  by  leaping  frantically 
from  the  water,  filling  the  air  with  glistening  drops 
and  breaking  the  smooth  surface  of  the  deep  green 


188  WILD  LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

pool.  Again  and  again  was  this  repeated,  and  each 
time  I  carefully  threw  him.  It  was  a  great  fight, 
and  after  five  minutes,  which  seemed  more  like 
fifty,  he  was  brought  to  the  net.  Just  four  pounds 
he  weighed,  and  as  I  laid  him  in  the  creel  and  gazed 
on  his  spotted,  iridescent  beauty,  I  congratulated 
myself  on  having  caught  my  first  rainbow  trout. 

To  the  man  who  would  feel  again  that  blessed, 
boyish  thrill,  that  tingling  of  the  nerves,  that 
breathless  expectancy  that  restores  lost  youth  in  a 
twinkling,  I  would  recommend  such  fishing  as 
this.  I  will  not  go  into  a  detailed  account  of  how 
each  fish  was  caught,  for  the  reader  would  not  be 
interested  ;  such  details  are  well  enough  when 
bottled  up  in  one's  own  mind,  but  they  should  be 
kept  there,  and  not  allowed  to  escape  to  the 
annoyance  of  a  good-natured  public.  The  man 
who,  sitting  before  the  fireside,  when  fishing  is 
being  discussed,  monopolises  conversation  by  the 
hour,  while  he  painfully  recites  with  minutest 
detail  the  catching  of  every  fish  on  each  of  his 
many  trips,  is  a  man  to  be  avoided.  So,  not  wish- 
ing to  be  put  in  his  class,  I  will  simply  state  that  the 
fishing  in  the  Kern  River  proved  in  every  way  up  to 
my  expectations  ;  for  the  most  part  the  conditions 
were  favourable  to  the  sport,  and  the  fishing  was 
sufficiently  difficult  to  be  always  interesting.  Never 
once  would  the  fish  come  too  easily.  Careful  work 
was  nearly  always  needed,  and  even  then  no 
ridiculously  large  catches  would  be  made.  Six  to 
ten  good-size  fish  would  be  a  very  good  day's  work  ; 
of  these  only  one  or  two  would  be  kept  for  food, 
the  rest  released  in  the  water  for  future  needs. 


Fishing  in  the  Kern  Eiver. 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  189 

The  best  time  for  this  fishing  seemed  as  a  rule 
to  be  the  morning,  for  an  hour  or  so  after  the  sun 
was  on  the  water,  then  again  later  in  the  afternoon, 
when  the  smaller  and  middle- size  fish  would  come 
to  the  open  and  rather  shallow  runs  to  feed.  In 
the  roughest  waters  the  sport  was  always  more 
exciting,  of  course,  and  many  a  hard  tussle  did  1 
enjoy  with  large  fish,  when  the  water  hurled  past 
with  a  thundering  roar  which  echoed  back  and 
forth  among  the  rocks  of  the  overhanging  canon. 
It  is  in  such  places  that  we  realise  and  appreciate 
the  difference  between  really  wild  fishing  and 
the  pale  imitation  which  one  finds  in  the  near 
town  club.  As  I  said  before,  it  is  not  only  the 
fish  but  the  conditions  which  make  it  so  well  worth 
while. 

While  camped  on  the  Kern  River  we  spent  some 
time  in  search  of  the  curious  golden  trout,  one  of 
the  excuses  which  had  brought  us  here.  The  very 
name  of  golden  trout  seems  to  possess  some  magic 
power,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  number  of 
people  who  have  heard  of  it.  Considering  the  fact 
that  this  fish  is  found  in  but  one  stream  in  the  world, 
and  that  that  stream  is  in  the  heart  of  the  great 
Sierras  of  California,  it  is  remarkable  that  it  should 
be  so  well  known  even  by  name.  Comparatively 
few  persons  have  seen  either  the  fish  itself  or 
pictures  of  it,  though  its  beauty  is  so  frequently 
mentioned ;  therefore  it  must  be  that  the  name 
has  led  to  its  becoming  thus  widely  known.  In 
point  of  beauty  the  golden  trout  should  be  given 
first  place  among  the  freshwater  fish  of  North 
America,  and  this,  compared  with  its  extraordinary 


190  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

history,  and  the  grandeur  of  the  country  surround- 
ing its  mountain  home,  are  excuses  enough  for  any 
one  who  wishes  an  excuse  for  undertaking  an 
interesting  trip  into  these  grand  mountains  of  the 
far  West.  For  those  accustomed  to  camping  in 
our  Eastern  States,  the  trip  in  itself  through  the 
Sierras,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  one  great 
succession  of  surprises  and  delights,  and  the  con- 
tinuous clear  weather  of  the  summer  months  reduces 
camping  to  absolute  simplicity. 

Volcano  Creek,  the  home  of  the  golden  trout,  is 
one  of  the  many  streams  that  flow  from  Mount 
Whitney,  the  highest  mountain  in  the  United  States. 
We  followed  the  course  of  the  Kern  River  along  its 
gravelly  stretches,  where  the  water  sparkled  in  the 
clear  light,  working  our  way  around  the  rougher 
places  where  the  river,  turbulent  and  grand,  fought 
its  way  among  stubborn  boulders,  swung  round 
the  sharp  bends,  and  through  the  deep,  dark 
gorges,  beautiful  always,  but  particularly  beautiful 
to  the  fisherman  who,  as  though  fascinated,  would 
regard  each  likely  place  where  he  knew  a  fish 
must  be  hiding.  In  the  near  distance  we  hear  a 
deafening  roar,  and  soon  we  come  upon  the  famous 
Volcano  Creek  dashing  down  the  mountain  side 
over  the  bed  of  lava  and  rock  as  though  anxious 
to  join  the  Kern  River.  With  difficulty  we 
climbed  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  then  we  found 
the  creek  in  an  entirely  different  mood.  No  longer 
boisterous  and  grand,  but  a  small  stream  flowing 
peacefully  through  a  meadow-like  valley.  The 
dense  fringe  of  overhanging  bushes  made  the 
prospect  of  casting  by  no  means  alluring  ;  short 


Volcano  Creek. 


GILBERT  AND   GOLDEN  TROUT  191 

casts  were  compulsory.  Selecting  a  fairly  promising 
part  of  the  stream,  I  cast  two  No.  12  flies  gently 
on  the  clear  water.  For  some  minutes  there  was 
no  reply,  then  a  sudden  quick  rise,  a  slight  bending 
of  the  tip  and  the  fish  is  hooked.  The  fight  is 
short  and  fairly  vigorous,  and  I  land  my  first 
golden  trout,  well  under  a  half-pound  in  weight, 
but  beautiful  beyond  any  freshwater  fish  I  have 
ever  seen,  the  most  exquisite,  dainty,  and  wonder- 
fully coloured.  Words  will  not  describe  it,  for  the 
colours  of  fish  are  nameless,  and  the  iridescence 
changes  each  colour  like  the  fire  of  the  opal.  This 
beautiful  fish  sparkles  as  though  sheathed  with 
tiny  scales  of  the  precious  metal  burnished  to  the 
highest  degree  of  brilliancy.  The  under  parts  are 
of  the  deep  orange  hues  of  the  mountain  sunsets, 
while  a  faint,  broad  band  of  rose  colour  tinges  the 
side  from  head  to  tail  ;  and  as  though  to  accentuate 
the  brightness  of  the  colours,  a  few  velvety  black 
spots  are  scattered  above  the  median  line.  Perhaps 
it  was  well  that  so  beautiful  a  creature  should 
not  rank  high  as  a  game  fish.  The  flesh  is 
delicious.  But  it  is  its  beauty,  coupled  with  the 
strangeness  of  its  peculiar  history  of  isolation  and 
the  grandeur  of  the  scenery  surrounding  its 
mountain  home,  that  gives  it  such  a  peculiar  place 
in  the  list  of  anglers'  trophies.  Beyond  that  it 
has  little  merit,  for  though  gamey  for  its  size  the 
fight  lasts  but  a  very  short  time,  and  in  size  it 
seldom  goes  over  half  a  pound.  Unfortunately 
immense  numbers  are  killed  annually  by  campers, 
frequently  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  satisfy  a 
disgusting  desire  for  killing.  An  instance  is  on 


192  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

record  where  a  game  warden  found  a  heap  of 
these  tiny  beauties  on  which  was  placed  a  card 
bearing  the  following:  "  We  killed  1,000  of  these 
fish  in  this  place,"  and  they  were  left  to  dry  up, 
serving  no  purpose  whatever.  Strange  it  is  that 
men  can  have  so  little  sense  of  the  eternal  fitness 
of  things.  Why  should  such  men  take  the  trouble 
to  camp  when  apparently  nothing  appeals  to  their 
sense  of  beauty  or  fair  play,  or  I  may  add,  of 
common  sense  ? — for  one  would  suppose  that  even 
they  must  realise  that  such  slaughter  means  at 
last  the  destruction  of  the  very  objects  which  they 
declare  give  them  sport.  Perhaps  they  don't  think. 
That  at  least  is  the  most  charitable  view  one  can 
take. 

Our  stay  in  the  Kern  River  valley  was  limited 
by  the  amount  of  food  we  had  brought.  Only  too 
short  a  time  did  it  last,  and  long  before  I  had  had 
enough  of  the  fine  fishing  and  delightful  scenery 
we  were  compelled  to  start  homeward.  Wishing 
to  see  as  much  of  the  country  as  possible  I  chose 
to  return  by  another  trail,  which  led  us  eventually 
through  the  famous  forest  of  giant  redwoods, 
where  the  trees  are  large  beyond  all  understanding, 
so  large  that  carriages  can  drive  through  the 
divided  bases  of  the  still  standing  trees.  The 
crownless  tops  detract  somewhat  from  the  actual 
beauty  of  these  ancients  of  the  forest,  but  in 
their  grandeur  and  majesty  they  stand  alone 
among  all  the  trees  of  the  world.  Their  destruc- 
tion for  commercial  purposes  would  have  been  a 
national,  or  I  should  say  a  world-wide  calamity, 
and  we  should  be  grateful  to  those  who,  like 


Landing  a  large  Gilbert  Trout  in  the  Kern  Eiver  (California). 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  193 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  were  instrumental  in  saving 
these  living  relics  of  the  past  for  generations  of 
mankind  yet  to  come. 

In  writing  of  the  rainbow  trout  it  may  be  advis- 
able to  go  cautiously,  for  the  ground  is  dangerous 
with  an  uncertainty,  due  to  the  many  and  confus- 
ing varieties  of  the  species,  as  well  as  to  the  conditions 
under  which  they  are  found.  In  the  strictly  tech- 
nical sense,  the  typical  rainbow  trout,  Salmo  iridens, 
is  a  distinct  species  which  is  found  only  in  the 
small  brooks  of  the  coast  ranges  in  California,  from 
the  Klamath  River  to  the  San  Louis  Bay  in  San 
Diego  County.  Throughout  much  of  the  rest  of 
the  western  country  many  of  the  various  species  of 
trout  are  close  relations  of  the  true  rainbow.  In 
fact,  many  of  them  show  differences  so  slight  that 
they  puzzle  the  experts,  with  the  result  that  a 
wonderful  state  of  confusion  exists.  Even  the 
icthyologists  are  undecided  about  several  of  the 
rainbow  trout  and  question  whether  the  differences 
in  coloration,  habits,  etc.,  are  due  solely  to  the 
geographical  conditions,  or  whether  they  constitute 
separate  species.  As  the  points  of  variation  merge 
one  into  the  other,  it  seems  impossible  to  give 
very  definite  descriptions  of  these  fish.  Indeed,  so 
greatly  are  they  affected  by  natural  conditions  that 
different  parts  of  a  river  will  produce  fish  which 
show  distinction  of  colour,  size  and  habits  ;  and  two 
streams  scarcely  more  than  a  few  hundred  yards 
apart  will  each  have  what  is  apparently  an  entirely 
distinct  species  of  rainbow  trout. 

The  gameness  of  the  rainbows  shows  as  much 
variation  as  do  their  colour  and  markings.     In  some 

W.L.C.  o 


194  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

places  they  are  decidedly  sluggish  ;  in  others  they 
fight  well,  but  do  not  break  water,  while  in  many 
rivers  they  behave  almost  like  the  Atlantic  salmon 
in  their  method  of  fighting  when  hooked,  leaping 
frantically  from  the  water  half  a  dozen  times  or 
more  in  the  endeavour  to  free  themselves.     On  an 
average,   however,   they  seem    to  be  rather  less 
gamey  than  the  Eastern  brook  trout.     Notwith- 
standing this  slight  disadvantage,  it  is  more  than 
probable  that  the  time  will  soon  come  when  the 
rainbow,  together  with  the  European  brown  trout, 
will  take   the  place  of  the  much-prized  and  too 
ardently    sought   after   brook   trout,   as   they   are 
hardier  and  will  more  readily  adapt  themselves  to 
the  increasing  warmth   of  the    Eastern    streams. 
This  warmth  is   due   to   the   ruthless  cutting  of 
timber,  and  the  unfortunate  necessity  of  clearing 
land,  so  that  the  streams  are  deprived  of  the  much- 
needed  shade,  consequently  the  water  is  warmed  by 
the  direct  sunlight,  and  evaporation  is  so  rapid  that 
by  the  middle  or  end  of  summer  there  is  a  lack  of 
water  in  streams  which  formerly  contained  plenty 
for  the  needs   of  the  trout.      The    brook   trout 
requires  cold  water,  but  the  rainbow  and  European 
will  thrive  in  water  that  reaches  a  temperature  of 
eighty  degrees.    Colder  water  will,  however,  produce 
a  more  healthy  and  gamey  fish. 

Of  the  various  forms  of  the  rainbow  trout, 
that  found  in  the  Kern  River,  California,  and 
known  as  the  Kern  River  or  Gilbert  trout  (S. 
iridens  gilberti),  is  perhaps  the  most  gamey.  It 
does  not  run  as  large  as  some  of  the  other  varieties, 
seldom  in  fact  weighing  over  four  or  five  pounds, 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  195 

and  never,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  more  than  eight 
pounds. 

The  Kern  River  is  an  ideal  place  for  fishing,  even 
though  rather  difficult  of  access.  It  rises  in  the 
high  Sierras,  and  flows  through  the  Kern  River 
canon.  During  the  greater  part  of  the  year  the 
water  is  extremely  cold  in  the  part  inhabited  by 
the  trout,  and  only  during  July  and  August  does  it 
become  at  all  warm.  The  river  is  very  swift  and 
has  numerous  deep,  dark  pools,  to  which  the  fish 
retire  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  These  conditions 
account  for  their  extreme  gameness,  and  make 
fishing  in  the  stream  a  source  of  immeasurable 
delight  to  the  angler.  The  superb  scenery  and  the 
exquisite  purity  of  the  atmosphere  add  greatly  to 
the  pleasure  of  a  fishing  trip  through  this  region. 

The  fishing  season  commences  in  June,  as  soon 
as  the  snow  melts  sufficiently  to  allow  of  travelling 
through  the  mountain  passes,  and  continues  as  long 
as  the  weather  permits.  As  a  rule  the  trout  rise 
readily  to  the  fly,  though  like  all  members  of  the 
finny  tribe,  they  have  their  off  days.  These  off  days 
seem  to  depend,  not  so  much  on  the  weather, 
which  during  the  summer  varies  little  from  day  to 
day,  as  upon  the  hatching  of  certain  larvae.  This 
theory  is  not  believed  by  some  people,  but  it  seems 
more  than  probable  to  me.  On  a  certain  day,  I, 
as  well  as  others,  who  were  fishing,  found  that 
scarcely  a  fish  could  be  induced  to  rise,  and  the  few 
that  did  were  all  small  ones.  In  vain  we  tried 
different  sizes  and  patterns  of  flies ;  grasshoppers 
were  used,  but  without  success.  At  last  I  took  a 
very  small  bare  hook  and  baited  it  with  a  clump  of 

o2 


196  WILD   LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

the  stick-like  larvae  of  the  caddis  fly,  which  were 
just  about  ready  to  hatch.  This  proved  most 
alluring,  and  within  an  hour  I  had  landed  a  number 
of  trout,  some  of  which  were  fine  big  fellows. 
Some  days  later  I  tried  the  same  experiment  with 
equal  success  when  flies  were  disdained.  I  do  not 
wish  it  to  be  understood  that  I  regard  this  as  a  very 
sportsmanlike  way  of  fishing,  but  as  an  experiment 
it  was  interesting. 

For  these  Kern  River  or  Gilbert  trout,  and  others 
of  the  rainbow  type,  the  most  killing  flies  are  usually 
the  hackles,  particularly  the  brown  hackle  with 
yellow  body.  The  coachman,  Montreal  and  grizzly 
king  also  prove  good.  The  number  eight  hook 
seems  about  the  best  size  ;  sometimes  a  larger  one 
is  better;  while  on  one  day  I  had  no  luck  until 
I  tried  some  on  number  sixteen  hooks.  These 
brought  me  no  end  of  sport,  and  I  landed  some 
very  fair-sized  fish  with  them  during  the  morning, 
while  the  men  who  were  using  larger  flies  had  no 
luck. 

There  are  no  rules  as  to  where  the  trout  will 
most  likely  be  found,  but  in  general  their  habits 
are  much  like  those  of  the  Eastern  brook  trout. 
The  smaller  fish  do  not  appear  to  be  very  shy,  but 
if  you  would  catch  the  large  ones,  your  chances  of 
success  will  be  greatly  increased  if  you  keep  out  of 
sight  as  much  as  possible.  This  is  especially  true 
when  fishing  in  the  pools.  In  the  fairly  shallow 
rapids,  where  the  trout  go  when  feeding,  they  are 
not  so  easily  frightened,  though  even  then  a  long 
line  will  usually  get  more  rises  than  a  short  one. 

Different  stretches  of  the  Kern  River  seem  to 


GILBERT  AND   GOLDEN   TROUT  197 

have  a  certain  limit  as  to  the  size  of  the  fish,  and  it 
will  be  noticed  that  only  small  ones  are  found 
towards  the  upper  end,  even  where  the  river  has 
deep  pools  and  other  conditions  which  are  apparently 
suitable  to  the  habits  and  needs  of  the  larger  fish. 
Usually  large  trout  do  not  like  either  very  cold 
water,  or  the  somewhat  sudden  changes  of  tempera- 
ture which  take  place  towards  the  source  of  the 
river,  where  the  water  is  very  cold  at  night  and  in 
the  early  morning,  but  warms  up  after  the  sun 
strikes  it.  The  largest  fish  are  most  often  found 
in  the  quiet  water,  such  as  in  places  where  the  river 
broadens  out,  owing  to  some  obstruction  blocking 
its  free  passage,  and  forms  small  lakes.  In  order 
to  fish  these  places  successfully,  it  will  be  found 
necessary  to  construct  a  raft,  unless  you  happen  to 
have  a  small  folding  boat  that  can  be  carried  on 
the  mules,  in  which  case  bear  in  mind  the  fact  that 
if  anything  can  be  broken,  a  mule  will  surely  find 
a  way  to  do  it.  So  if  you  carry  a  canoe,  pack  it 
with  the  greatest  care. 

It  may  be  well  to  remark  that  when  fishing  in 
California  or  Colorado,  or  in  any  climate  where  the 
air  is  extremely  dry,  and  the  sun  very  powerful,  be 
sure  to  keep  your  traces  (leaders)  and  fly  snells 
thoroughly  moist;  otherwise  you  will  require  an 
inexhaustible  supply  of  traces  and  patience,  as  the 
gut  becomes  so  brittle  that  it  breaks  with  little  or 
no  provocation,  and  consequently  many  fish  will 
get  away.  The  extreme  dryness  also  plays  havoc 
with  rods,  as  it  dries  out  the  wood  and  renders  it 
very  brittle.  The  only  remedy  is  to  have  well- 
made  rods,  and  keep  them  carefully  varnished, 


198  WILD  LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

otherwise  they  will  be  sure  to  dry  out,  especially  at 
the  ferrules.  When  not  in  use  the  rods  should 
never  be  left  in  the  sun.  Reels  require  more 
attention  than  in  the  East,  both  on  account  of  the 
dust  which  finds  its  way  into  everything,  and  the 
heat  which  dries  out  the  oil ;  therefore  clean  and 
oil  frequently. 

In  general,  the  tackle  required  for  the  rainbow 
trout  and  its  allies  is  very  similar  to  that  used  for 
the  Eastern  brook  trout,  though  a  slightly  heavier 
rod  may  be  preferred.  A  five  and  a  half  ounce  rod 
should  prove  heavy  enough  for  any  one.  The  eight 
ounce  rod  recommended  by  a  certain  writer  is  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  size  of  the  fish.  Split 
bamboo  of  good  quality  is  preferable  to  lancewood 
or  greenheart,  as  it  will  not  be  so  likely  to  dry  out. 
But  on  no  account  use  a  cheap  department  store 
split  bamboo,  as  it  will  not  stand  the  climate.  In 
any  event  do  not  fail  to  carry  an  extra  rod  or  two 
in  your  outfit,  and  don't  pack  them  all  on  the  same 
mule,  unless  they  are  protected  with  more  than 
ordinary  care. 

Without  wishing  to  show  any  partiality,  I  would 
advise  securing  your  outfit  in  the  East,  where  the 
prices  are  lower  and  you  know  your  dealer  and 
maker  of  the  rod.  In  the  West,  fly-fishing  is  of 
comparatively  recent  date,  and  has  not  yet  reached 
the  high  degree  of  popularity  and  perfection  that 
has  been  developed  in  the  East.  Hence  the  dealers 
are  not  so  well  stocked  with  rods,  flies  and  other 
articles  necessary  to  the  angler. 

Don't  carry  a  small  creel,  as  you  should  be  pre- 
pared to  carry  fish  that  may  be  twenty  or  thirty 


GILBERT   AND   GOLDEN    TROUT  199 

inches  long,  and  few  things  are  more  delightfully 
aggravating  than  catching  a  fish  too  large  for  your 
basket. 

Waders  will  not  be  needed  in  the  dry  regions, 
where  the  sun  is  so  powerful  that  it  burns  the  feet 
when  rubber  clad,  and  anyhow  your  clothes  dry  so 
rapidly  that  little  discomfort  is  experienced  after 
coming  from  the  water.  North  of  California  waders 
may  be  found  necessary,  as  the  air  is  not  so  dry,  the 
water  is  colder,  and  the  weather  not  so  persistently 
fine. 

Besides  the  true  rainbow  and  the  Kern  River 
trout,  the  other  more  or  less  distinct  species  embrace 
the  following :  the  golden  S.  agua-bonita ;  the 
Nissuee,  S.  iridens  stoneii,  the  McCloud  River, 
S.  shasta,  and  the  Western  Oregon  brook  trout, 
S.  masoni.  All  of  the  rainbow  series  are  more  or 
less  profusely  spotted  with  black,  and  have  the  broad, 
lateral  band  of  purplish  pink,  from  which  they 
derive  their  name  of  rainbow.  This  band  varies 
greatly  with  individuals ;  in  some  it  is  very  con- 
spicuous, while  in  others  it  is  scarcely  discernible. 

The  McCloud  River  species,  which  is  the  rainbow, 
most  frequently  used  by  fish  culturists,  is  native  to 
the  waters  of  the  Sierra  Nevadas,  from  Mount 
Shasta  southward,  where  in  different  streams  it 
reaches  a  maximum  weight  of  from  three  to  eight 
pounds.  It  has  been  transplanted  to  many  parts 
of  the  United  States,  and  varies  both  in  size  and 
habits  according  to  the  existing  conditions.  In 
some  of  the  very  cold  streams  of  Colorado  it  does 
not  grow  beyond  half  a  pound,  while  in  the  warmer 
waters  of  the  same  State  I  am  told  that  it  may  be 


200  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

found  weighing  as  much  as  thirteen  pounds.  In 
Missouri  it  does  not  grow  quite  so  large,  while  in 
the  Au  Sable  River,  Michigan,  seven  pounds  is 
about  its  greatest  weight.  In  the  Eastern  states  it 
seldom  grows  so  large. 

In  the  "  lower  Columbia  and  coastwise  streams 
of  Oregon  and  Washington,"  the  Western  Oregon 
brook  trout  is  found.  It  varies  little  from  the 
typical  rainbow,  and  never  grows  large  enough  to 
be  a  very  important  game  fish,  seldom  exceeding  a 
weight  of  one  pound. 


YELLOW    TAIL    FISHING   OFF 
CATALINA    ISLAND 


O /IIH8FI    J1AT    ^ 
(i>;AJai    AWIJAT 


CHAPTER  XIV 

YELLOW   TAIL   FISHING    OFF   CATALINA   ISLAND 

FOR  those  who  enjoy  a  strenuous  kind  of  fishing 
there  is  probably  no  place  of  easy  access  that  will 
afford  better  opportunities  than  the  vicinity  of 
Catalina  Island  off  the  coast  of  California.  There 
it  is  that  the  yellow  tail  stays  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year  and  offers  sport  as  abundant  and  as 
exciting  as  any  man  could  wish.  It  is  a  sport  that 
must  appeal  most  strongly  to  those  who,  while 
enjoying  the  vigorous  fight  with  the  fish,  do  not 
appreciate  bodily  hardships  and  the  consequent 
fatigue.  Most  of  the  fishing  is  done  from  an  open 
boat  or  motor  launch,  for  the  day's  use  of  which  you 
pay  about  ten  dollars  with  complete  outfit.  It  is  a 
dreamy,  lazy  form  of  enjoyment  while  waiting  for 
the  fish,  followed  by  the  keenest  of  excitement  after 
the  strike.  Seated  in  a  comfortable  armchair  facing 
the  stern  of  the  boat,  with  a  rod  on  either  side 
trailing  some  fifty  yards  or  more  of  line,  you  travel 
slowly  along,  past  rocky  shores  and  islands  of  floating 
kelp,  gently  rolling  over  the  long,  undulating  swell 
of  the  great  Pacific.  The  soft  air,  the  occasional 
low  mist  through  which  the  powerful  sun  shines  in 
iridescent  splendour,  the  bright  blue  sky  above  and 
the  exquisite  ever- changing  colour  of  the  water,  all 
combine  to  make  this  form  of  fishing  a  delight  to 
the  senses,  and  one  is  almost  tempted  to  be  satisfied 


204  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

with  drifting  along  regardless  of  whether  fish  are 
caught  or  not.  In  this  way  it  resembles  fishing  for 
brook  trout,  where  the  pleasure  of  wading  through 
the  rippling  water  beneath  the  arch  of  tender  green 
leaves  is  perhaps  the  chief  attraction  of  the  sport. 
The  catching  of  the  fish  is  really  only  an  incident, 
even  though  a  much  needed  one.  When  after 
yellow  tail  your  boatman  takes  you  over  the  best 
fishing  grounds,  going  at  a  rate  of  about  three 
miles  an  hour.  Outside  of  the  chug-chug  of  the 
gasoline  engine  and  the  occasional  screech  of  the 
gulls  all  is  dreamily  quiet,  when  suddenly,  whirr ! 
and  you  grab  the  rod  as  the  line  flies  out  from  the 
large,  strongly-built  reel.  At  the  same  moment 
the  boatman  stops  the  engine  and  the  fun  begins. 
You  cannot  stop  the  mad  rush  of  the  fish,  especially 
if  it  is  a  big  fellow ;  the  best  you  can  do  is  to  press 
the  leather  firmly  on  the  reel,  and  woe  betide  you  if 
your  thumb  slips  off  and  touches  the  line.  Gradually 
the  speed  of  the  fish  decreases,  perhaps  he  starts 
towards  you,  and  hastily  you  reel  in  the  slack,  taking 
care  to  release  instantly  in  case  he  should  start  off 
again,  and  keep  your  fingers  clear  of  the  handle  if 
you  value  those  same  fingers.  Should  the  fish 
burrow  into  the  deep  water,  as  they  usually  do,  you 
will  find  ordinary  reeling  is  out  of  the  question, 
pumping  is  the  only  way  to  raise  him,  and  that  is  done 
by  quickly  dropping  the  top  of  the  rod  and  reeling 
in  the  few  feet  of  slack  almost  simultaneously; 
then  hold  the  reel  firmly  and  slowly  raise  the  top 
of  the  rod  as  high  as  you  can  and  repeat  the  trick. 
In  this  way  you  gain  about  four  or  five  feet  each 
time  and  gradually  the  fish  is  brought  near  the 


YELLOW   TAIL   FISHING          205 

surface.  Look  out  then  for  frantic  rushes  which, 
though  usually  short,  require  careful  handling  if 
you  would  retain  your  connection  with  the  fish. 
The  yellow  tail  will  not  give  up  until  he  is  absolutely 
done.  Up  to  the  very  end  he  fights,  and  fights  hard, 
keeping  you  busy  for  sometimes  as  much  as  half  an 
hour  or  even  longer,  if  it  is  a  very  large  fish.  It  is 
hard  to  overestimate  the  beauty  of  these  yellow 
tail  as  they  plunge  near  the  surface,  displaying  their 
wonderful  iridescent  colouring.  Their  sides  literally 
gleam  in  the  sunlight  like  polished  brass  as  they 
dart  back  and  forth.  Then  comes  the  acknowledge- 
ment of  defeat.  The  fish  turns  belly  up  and  the 
struggle  ceases.  If  you  wish  to  keep  the  fish  the 
gaff  is  used.  It  is  quick  work,  for  the  men  are 
experts  and  death  is  practically  instantaneous.  If 
you  have  no  use  for  it,  the  boatman  simply  leans 
over  and  gently  releases  the  hook,  and  immediately 
the  fish  seems  imbued  with  new  life,  and  with  a 
quick  move  of  the  tail  vanishes  with  wonderful 
speed  into  the  rich  blue  depths  of  its  ocean  home, 
and  chug,  chug,  chug,  the  launch  starts  up  and  off 
again  in  search  of  more  sport.  It  is  not  always  that 
trolling  answers  in  yellow  tail  fishing ;  why,  no  man 
can  say,  but  the  fact  remains  that  sometimes  you 
may  troll  all  day  long  and  never  have  a  strike ;  then 
it  is  necessary  either  to  cast  or  stillfish.  Casting  is 
splendid  enough  sport,  but  stillfishing  in  deep  water 
is  rather  slow,  drowsy  work.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  sights  in  connection  with  yellow  tail 
fishing  is  to  see  the  schools  of  fish  feeding.  The 
surface  of  the  shimmering  water  will  be  oil-like  one 
moment  and  the  next  will  see  a  broken  surface  of 


206  WILD  LIFE  AND   THE   CAMERA 

an  acre  or  more  in  extent,  the  water  churned  up  as 
though  a  volcano  were  in  eruption  beneath.  Gulls, 
attracted  by  the  turmoil  and  the  chance  of  picking 
up  scraps  of  small  fish  torn  by  the  voracious  yellow 
tail,  arrive  in  numbers  and  add  to  the  general  con- 
fusion. Then  suddenly  it  all  ends,  peace  is  restored, 
thousands  of  small  fry  have  been  devoured,  and 
once  more  the  limpid  surface  reflects  the  gorgeous 
blue  of  the  sky.  Near  floating  masses  of  kelp  is 
usually  a  sure  place  for  yellow  tail  fishing,  but  a 
great  deal  of  sport  is  to  be  found  in  the  bays  quite 
close  to  the  rocks.  In  fact  some  people  prefer  to 
fish  directly  from  the  shore,  and  when  the  water  is 
fairly  shallow  this  gives  splendid  sport,  as  then  the 
fish  is  unable  to  ground  and  sulk. 

The  outfit  necessary  and  advisable  for  yellow  tail 
comprises  a  fairly  stiff  rod,  not  over  eight  feet  long 
and  weighing  from  24  to  30  ounces  (anything  over 
26  ounces  is  really  only  good  for  beginners)  ;  a 
good,  stout  and  long  line  is  necessary,  about 
300  feet  of  15-strand  cuttybunk  is  usually  recom- 
mended ;  needless  to  say,  a  reliable  reel  is  an 
important  part  of  the  outfit,  for  if  the  reel  goes 
wrong  it  means  loss  of  fish,  line  and  all.  The  hook 
most  highly  recommended  by  Mr.  Charles  P.  Holder 
is  the  O'Shaughnessy  attached  to  a  stiff  copper 
wire,  which  in  turn  is  fastened  by  means  of  a  swivel 
to  the  line.  For  bait  sardine  or  herring  are  usually 
used,  sometimes  in  connection  with  a  large  spoon. 
When  stillfishing  is  resorted  to  it  is  often  neces- 
sary to  coax  the  fish  and  start  them  feeding  by 
throwing  in  bait.  Once  they  begin  to  eat,  your 
fun  begins,  but  there  are  times  when  apparently 


YELLOW  TAIL   FISHING          207 

no  power  on  earth  will  persuade  them  that  food  is 
necessary  for  their  existence.  The  yellow  tail  of 
the  Pacific  are  not  the  same  as  those  found  in  the 
Florida  waters.  They  are  very  much  larger.  Those 
caught  on  lines  average  over  20  pounds ;  they 
are  seldom  caught  smaller  than  10  pounds  and 
usually  run  from  that  size  up  to  about  30  or 
35  pounds,  though  in  exceptional  instances  they 
are  very  much  larger.  The  season  for  fishing 
begins  about  the  early  part  of  April  and  lasts  from 
then  on  until  the  end  of  December,  and  during 
this  period  there  are  few  days,  when  the  weather  is 
fine,  that  a  man  cannot  be  sure  of  some  good 
sport. 


FISHING  FOR  SEA-TROUT  IN  NEW 
BRUNSWICK  RIVERS 


W.L.C. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FISHING  FOR  SEA-TROUT  IN  NEW  BRUNSWICK  RIVERS 

FOR  many  weeks  the  fishing  fever  had  been  dis- 
turbing our  minds  and  making  our  bodies  restless. 
Ever  since  the  first  bluebird  had  come  north  and 
we  had  listened  with  delight  to  the  ethereally 
delicate  song,  we  had  talked  and  thought  and 
dreamed  of  fishing.  (It  was  myself  and  wife  that 
were  planning  this  dissipation.)  While  we  were 
debating  the  important  question  of  where  to  go,  a 
friend  suggested  "a  perfectly  splendid  place"  in 
New  Brunswick,  where  trout  of  immense  size  and 
unquestioned  gameness  could  be  found  in  virgin 
pools  of  streams  unknown  to  sportsmen.  This 
certainly  sounded  alluring. 

At  last  the  day  came  and  we  started  with  glad 
hearts,  for  all  seemed  to  be  going  well,  notwith- 
standing certain  small  details  which  might  have 
annoyed  some  people  who  were  not  suffering  from 
a  bad  attack  of  fishing  fever. 

In  due  course  we  arrived  at  Fredericton,  and  the 
day  following  we  headed  north,  going  by  very  slow 

train  to  C ,  on  the  banks  of  the  M River, 

arriving  at  midnight.  Early  next  morning  our 
guide  came  to  the  hotel  and  said  that,  though  the 
season  was  a  trifle  early,  he  thought  he  could  take 
us  to  where  we  should  catch  some  good  trout. 

We  took  quite  a  fancy  to  this  guide,  who  was  a 

p  2 


212    WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

true  son  of  Ireland,  good-tempered,  and  of  wit  full 
to  overflowing ;  and,  what  was  still  more  to  the 
point,  he  knew  a  good  deal  about  trout  fishing. 
Very  large  flies,  he  declared,  were  necessary  for  the 
early  fishing — No.  1  salmon,  no  less.  I  had  with  me 
a  book  of  salmon  flies,  but  having  practically  never 
used  anything  larger  than  No.  6,  I  had  very  few  of 
the  large  sizes  and,  frankly,  I  did  not  have  much 
faith  in  them  for  trout.  It  had  nearly  always  been 
my  experience  that  small  flies  proved  better  than 
large  ones.  However,  to  avoid  the  possibility  of 
having  the  guide  blame  our  tackle  if  we  failed  to 
catch  the  fish,  I  searched  the  town  and  procured 
some  very  badly-faded  silver  doctors  and  Wilkin- 
sons of  the  desired  size.  With  our  outfit  in  a  light 
wagon  and  ourselves  in  a  carriage  we  started  on 
a  twelve-mile  drive  to  a  river  near  which  John, 
the  guide,  told  us  that  his  married  daughter  lived, 
and  there  we  could  put  up  for  a  couple  of  days 
while  we  tried  the  fishing. 

We  found  everything  thoroughly  to  our  satis- 
faction— a  nice  clean  house  on  a  very  tidy  farm, 
and  a  promising  river  within  a  stone's  throw.  After 
a  bite  of  lunch  we  assembled  the  rods  and  were 
poled  up  the  river  to  a  likely-looking  pool,  where 
we  disembarked.  Scarcely  had  I  made  half  a  dozen 
casts  with  the  No.  1  Wilkinson,  at  the  head  of  the 
pool,  than  a  huge  surge  where  the  fly  had  just 
touched  the  water  set  my  heart  throbbing.  Almost 
before  I  realised  what  had  happened  the  line 
tightened  with  that  magnetic  thrill  which  makes 
the  blood  of  a  fisherman  dance  in  his  veins.  There 
was  scarcely  need  to  strike,  but  I  did  so,  and  was 


FISHING   FOR   SEA-TROUT        213 

rejoiced  to  find  the  hook  had  gone  home.  Just  at 
first  that  fish  played  a  gentle  game,  going  slowly 
down  stream  to  deep  water,  and  I  could  not 
estimate  his  size ;  but  suddenly  he  resented  my 
restraining  movements,  and  started  to  make  things 
lively,  first  thrashing  the  water  as  he  came  to  the 
surface,  then  making  frantic  runs  here  and  there, 
trying  all  the  while  to  get  near  a  mass  of  drift 
brush  which  was  caught  against  the  bank  at  the 
farther  side  of  the  stream.  Had  he  once  attained 
his  object  it  would  have  been  good-bye  to  him,  so 
I  gave  him  the  butt  as  firmly  as  possible,  gradually 
steering  the  big  fellow  away  from  the  danger,  until 
I  had  him  in  clearer  and  quieter  water.  Every 
nerve  in  my  body  .was  tense  with  excitement,  and 
if  that  fish  had  escaped  I  believe  I  would  have 
cried — or  sworn — but  we  kept  together,  though 
between  us  there  was  sometimes  seventy  feet  of 
line,  taut  as  a  fiddlestring,  now  quiet,  now  ripping 
through  the  water  like  a  keen-edged  knife.  But 
the  end  was  near.  Slowly  the  big  fish  was  coming. 
I  had  given  him  no  rest  and  he  was  tired. 
Choosing  a  quiet  piece  of  shallow  water,  I  reeled 
him  in  toward  the  small  landing  net ;  but  the  net 
looked  too  small,  and  I  feared  it  would  not  hold 
him.  Very  gradually  I  worked  the  big  fellow 
toward  it  and  at  the  critical  moment  scooped  him 
up  ;  but  my  surmise  was  correct — the  net  was  too 
small,  and  the  fish  gave  a  mighty  jump  and  cleared 
it,  but  fortunately  the  hook  still  held.  To  beach 
him  was  now  the  only  way,  and  I  backed  up  to  the 
sandy  bar  and  got  my  prize  safely  ashore.  What 
a  beauty  he  was — three  pounds,  five  ounces — not 


214    WILD   LIFE   AND   THE    CAMERA 

very  large,  it's  true,  but  such  a  fighter ;  so  silvery 
and  so  clean-cut ;  not  two  weeks  from  the  ocean ! 
Yes,  he  was  a  prize,  and  I  could  only  regret  that  he 
had  not  fallen  to  my  wife's  rod  (that  sounds 
well !). 

Now  my  wife  had  with  her  a  creel,  as  she  called 
it,  and  this  creel  was  of  the  smallest  size  that  is 
made — about  nine  inches  long.  It  was  a  cause  of 
much  amusement  to  ourselves  and  to  anyone  who 
saw  it ;  but  the  wife  maintained  that  she  had  never 
caught,  and  never  expected  to  catch,  a  trout  long 
enough  to  bend  in  that  creel.  All  the  trout  she 
caught  had  to  be  shaken  backward  and  forward  in 
order  that  head  and  tail  might  be  said  to  touch 
both  ends  of  the  basket.  In  vain  had  I  tried  to 
persuade  her  not  to  bring  such  a  ridiculously  use- 
less article  with  us,  but  being  a  woman — well,  the 
basket  came  anyhow. 

John  declared  it  was  just  about  big  enough  to 
carry  a  cast  of  flies,  "  if  they  weren't  too  large  "  ; 
but  still  the  wife  insisted  that  she  never  expected 
to  catch  a  trout  that  could  not  be  put  in  that 
basket,  and  that,  too,  without  its  having  to  be 
bent.  When  John  pointed  to  my  fish  and  asked 
her  whether  that  would  go  in  her  creel,  she 
ventured  to  remind  him  that  she  had  not  caught  it, 
and  with  that  she  began  to  whip  the  pool  with  a 
No.  1  silver  doctor.  In  two  or  three  minutes  I 
heard  a  shriek  of  delight  and  saw  her,  with  bowed 
rod,  playing  a  fish,  her  first  decent-sized  trout 
(though  she  had  at  various  times  caught  a  large 
number  of  bass,  one  of  which  weighed  ten  pounds). 
Her  excitement  was  delightful  to  watch,  and  the 


FISHING   FOR   SEA-TROUT        215 

way  in  which  she  hurried  that  fish  to  the  net  was 
almost  laughable.  At  last  she  had  him,  and  he 
weighed  a  pound  and  three-quarters.  But  John 
never  mentioned  the  tiny  creel.  He  winked  at 
me,  and  I  guessed  he  was  waiting  for  a  larger  fish. 
Pretty  soon  she  got  another  one  which,  though  a 
splendid  fighter,  was  half  a  pound  smaller  than  the 
first.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  small  fish  we 
had  no  more  luck  that  day,  but  we  had  thoroughly 
enjoyed  ourselves,  and  the  wife  acknowledged  that, 
after  all,  there  were  large  trout  in  the  world, 
though  she  had  previously  doubted  it. 

The  river  was  an  ideal  one  in  most  ways — fairly 
swift,  clear,  and  icy  cold,  with  deep  pools  here 
and  there  in  which  lay  the  big  fish.  On  the  second 
day  of  our  stay  here  I  had  no  luck  at  all,  but  the 
wife  caught  a  fine  three-pounder.  Unfortunately 
I  was  not  with  her  when  she  landed  it,  but  there 
were  great  stories  of  her  excitement.  By  bad  luck 
she  had  left  the  tiny  creel  at  the  house. 

On  the  third  day  we  went  down  stream  in  the 
boat,  fishing  as  we  went  along.  We  were  going 
very  slowly,  the  wife  sitting  in  the  bow  casting 
carefully  over  every  likely  place.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  splendid  rise  at  the  fly ;  she  struck  too 
quickly,  and  missed.  Almost  instantly  she  had 
that  fly  back  on  the  spot,  but  nothing  came.  Again 
and  again  the  large  fly  was  dropped  on  the  quiet 
water  behind  a  submerged  stone,  and  with  a  discon- 
solate sigh  she  was  just  saying  what  a  shame  it  was 
to  have  lost  such  a  monster  (all  fish  that  rise  to  her 
fly  and  miss  it  are  "  monsters "),  when  there  was 
a  mighty  splash  and  a  beautiful  fish  leaped  clear 


216  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

out  of  the  water  as  he  seized  the  fly.  A  more 
perfect  rise  I  have  never  seen.  Away  he  went, 
down  to  the  quicker  water.  Nothing  could  stop 
him  at  first,  and  the  chances  seemed  entirely  in 
his  favour.  Gradually  the  wife  got  control  of  the 
reel,  and  it  was  a  caution  the  way  in  which  she 
made  that  line  come  in.  The  rod  bent  till  the 
tip  touched  the  water,  but  nothing  would  do  but 
that  that  fish  must  continue  coming.  Without 
realising  how  close  the  fish  was,  she  reeled  in 
past  the  nine-foot  leader.  At  that  moment  she 
weakened,  and  the  fish  took  advantage  of  the 
relaxing  in  the  strain  and  dashed  off.  Down  went 
the  tip  till  the  rod  pointed  straight  at  the  fish  ;  the 
knot  caught  in  the  top  ferrule,  and  the  sudden 
jerk  pulled  out  the  tip  and  down  the  line  it  slid 
until  it  actually  hit  the  fish.  Things  were  certainly 
looking  black. 

"  Look  out  !  The  big  divil  is  eatin'  the  rod," 
called  John,  as  the  fish  smashed  the  tip  into  tiny 
pieces  ;  but  the  wife  held  on,  and  jumping  out  of 
the  boat,  soon  had  her  three-pound  fish  safely 
beached.  We  laughed  until  there  were  tears  in 
our  eyes  as  we  got  out  another  tip,  warning  the 
wife  not,  on  any  account,  to  let  the  fish  eat  it. 

"  Now,  let's  put  him  in  the  creel,"  said  John, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes.  "  Please  ma'am, 
an'  here's  the  creel,  will  ye  put  him  in,  yersilf?*' 
The  comparative  size  of  the  tiny  creel  and  the 
large  trout  was  too  much  for  John.  "  Let's  cut  off 
his  head,  ma'am,  and  put  that  in,  for  it's  all  it'll 
howld,"  and  since  that  day  the  tiny  creel  has  never 
been  in  evidence.  During  the  afternoon  we  caught 


FISHING  FOR  SEA-TROUT        217 

several  fair-sized  fishes,  and  all  of  them  great 
fighters. 

The  following  day  we  left  the  farm  and  drove 
to  another  and  wilder  river  fourteen  miles  away. 

John  had  a  boat  on  the  T ,  and  in  this  we  started 

down  the  river  eight  miles  to  his  camp.  Unfor- 
tunately the  water  was  low  ;  more  and  more 
thinly  it  spread  over  the  widening,  stony  bed  of 
the  river  ;  finally  it  became  apparent  that  the  boat 
could  only  be  taken  down  if  empty,  and  so  we 
walked  to  the  camp. 

It  was  a  comfortable  log  cabin,  beautifully 
situated,  overlooking  the  river.  Near  it  was  a 
large  and  likely-looking  pool,  so  we  wasted  no 
time  before  trying  our  luck.  I  lost  two  good  fish 
and  the  wife  took  the  greatest  care  in  explaining  how 
and  why  I  had  lost  them.  There  were  so  many 
reasons  for  their  having  gotten  off  that  I  was 
really  surprised  that  they  should  have  stayed  on  at 
all.  To  lose  a  fish  of  decent  size  is  bad  enough, 
but  how  it  happened  should  never  be  told  except 
by  the  unfortunate  fellow  who  lost  it. 

However,  1  kept  my  temper  (more  or  less),  said 
nothing  (or  very  little),  and  kept  on  casting  and 
watching  for  retribution,  which  was  thoroughly 
mean  and  cruel.  It  was  not  long  in  coming,  and 
to  my  great  delight  I  saw  a  nice  fish  take  the  fly 
that  my  wife  so  skilfully  offered.  Splash  !  splash  ! 
whirr !  the  running  line  made  the  reel  shriek  and 
the  rod  bent  in  a  graceful  bow.  Only  for  an 
instant,  and  then  it  sprang  back,  the  line  hung 
limp — the  tension  was  gone,  and  so  was  the  fish. 
Had  the  wife  been  a  man,  we  know  exactly  what 


218    WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

she  would  have  said,  but  the  running  water  made 
so  much  noise  that  I  could  not  hear  her  remarks. 
Then,  smiling, — and  that  was  contemptible — I  asked 
her  which  of  the  many  aforesaid  reasons  was  the 
one  which  accounted  for  the  loss  of  the  immense 
(I  put  emphasis  on  that  word)  fish.  Soon  she  had 
another  and  lost  it,  so  we  called  quits  and  had 
a  good  laugh  over  our  bad  fishing.  No  luck  fell 
to  our  lot  that  afternoon.  We  caught  nothing 
heavier  than  three-quarters  of  a  pound.  Evidently 
very  few  large  fish  had  come  so  far  up  the  river. 
So  we  decided  to  work  down  stream  until  we 
should  meet  them. 

John  thought  it  would  be  wiser  to  use  a  large, 
flat-bottomed  boat  for  the  trip,  as  we  could  then 
fish  from  it  with  comfort,  whereas  the  smaller  one 
was  so  cranky  that  fishing  from  it,  when  loaded, 
would  have  been  rather  too  exciting,  and  in 
places,  even  dangerous.  The  flat-bottom  boat  was 
evidently  quite  safe  unless  she  took  it  into  her  head 
to  sink,  and  from  the  way  the  water  poured 
through  the  seams  when  we  launched  her,  this 
was  by  no  means  a  remote  possibility.  The  next 
morning  when  we  went  to  load  her  she  was  safely 
ensconced  on  the  bottom.  Fortunately  the  water 
was  not  very  deep,  and  after  some  difficulty  we  got 
her  afloat  and  loaded,  but  for  the  rest  of  the  trip 
bailing  was  an  important  part  of  the  day's  pro- 
gramme. At  nearly  every  pool  on  the  way  down 
we  caught  fish.  Many  of  them  were  large  ones, 
and  gave  us  no  end  of  fun,  and  as,  unless  they  were 
injured,  we  always  returned  them  to  the  stream, 
we  felt  there  was  no  necessity  for  limiting  our  catch. 


FISHING  FOR   SEA-TROUT        219 

In  one  of  the  pools  a  big  chap  rose  several  times 
to  our  flies  without  actually  touching.  "  Now," 
said  John,  "this  is  the  time  to  produce  my  big 
bird,"  and  out  of  his  pocket  came  an  immense  bass 
fly — the  largest  I  have  ever  seen.  It  was  put  on 
the  wife's  leader  and  was  sent  whizzing  through 
the  air  toward  where  the  fish  lay.  With  a  mighty 
splash  the  fly  struck  the  water.  This  was  too 
much  for  any  self-respecting  trout.  Up  he  came, 
and  with  a  gulp  took  the  offending  disturber  of 
his  meditations.  What  a  time  he  made  of  it ! 
Up  and  down  the  pool;  here,  there,  everywhere, 
and  finally,  just  as  it  seemed  about  time  to  bring 
him  to  the  net  he  got  loose,  and  that  was,  of  course, 
the  last  we  saw  of  him.  But  it  goes  to  show  what 
I  have  always  maintained — that  occasionally  a  very 
large  fly  will  excite  or  provoke  a  trout  or  salmon, 
and  prove  very  effective  when  all  else  fails. 

For  several  days  we  continued  our  way  down 
the  river,  camping,  usually,  fairly  early  in  the  day. 
One  afternoon,  as  we  were  about  to  pitch  camp, 
the  rain  came  down  in  torrents.  Some  women 
would  have  been  discouraged  at  getting  their  hair 
out  of  curl,  but  the  wife  thought  it  great  fun. 
Dressed  in  a  waterproof,  with  the  case  of  the 
waterproof  for  a  hat  (that's  an  idea  worth  remem- 
bering), she  cooked  us  a  delicious  dinner. 

I  have  been  camping  with  people  who,  when  it 
rained,  regarded  it  as  a  personal  insult  for  which 
one  of  the  party  (I  was  usually  the  one)  was 
entirely  to  blame.  "  Why  hadn't  I  told  them  it 
was  like  this,  and  of  course  they  wouldn't  have 
thought  of  coming."  "  How  could  anyone  be 


220  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

expected  to  sleep  on  wet  boughs — in  fact,  how 
could  the  boughs  be  cut  when  they  were  wet,  and 
even  the  ground  was  wet  ? "  and  so  on ;  growl, 
growl,  growl,  simply  because  of  some  nice,  refresh- 
ing rain.  Why,  I  have  had  it  refresh  me  for 
sixteen  consecutive  days,  but  growling  did  not 
do  any  good — in  fact,  so  far  as  I  know,  growling 
has  never  yet  stopped  rain  or  any  other  trouble  ; 
rather  the  reverse,  for  it  seems  as  though  the 
growlers  always  have  the  most  troubles. 

Our  last  camp  was  at  tide-water,  some  16  miles 
from  the  actual  mouth  of  the  river.  The  tent 
overlooked  a  very  large,  deep  pool,  fully  200  yards 
long.  On  the  opposite  side  a  small  sparkling  brook 
added  its  share  to  the  larger  river.  One  day  the 
fishing  was  not  good  in  the  big  pool  owing  to  the 
very  high  tide,  so  we  amused  ourselves  along  the 
bank  of  the  smaller  stream,  and  we  made  acquaint- 
ance— a  sort  of  bowing  acquaintance — with  a  very 
clever  and  very  aggravating  trout.  He  lived  in  a 
small  pool  under  an  old,  dead  birch  stump  which 
bent  over  the  water.  I  cast  toward  his  home, 
thinking  it  a  likely  place,  and  it  was,  for  instantly 
there  was  a  splash  and  a  glint  of  silver  as  the  fish, 
which  we  subsequently  named  McGinty,  came 
to  the  fly  and  missed  it.  Again  I  cast  and  saw 
him  leave  the  shade  of  the  big  stump  ;  but  he 
changed  his  mind  and  returned.  For  some  time  I 
continued  casting,  without  results,  so  I  tried 
another  fly  and  McGinty  made  a  dart  at  it,  but 
without  success — at  least,  so  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned. After  a  while  I  actually  hooked  him,  but 
only  for  an  instant,  and  off  he  went.  Then  we 


FISHING   FOR   SEA-TKOUT        221 

gave  him  a  rest,  after  which  the  wife  tried  him  and 
had  two  fine  rises  and  two  equally  fine  misses. 

So  we  left  McGinty  and  went  farther  up  the 
stream,  getting  some  very  good  fishing,  but  nothing 
over  one  pound.  On  returning  to  McGinty's  pool 
an  hour  or  so  later,  we  again  tried  to  coax  the  wily 
fellow,  but  beyond  coming  out  to  take  a  look  at 
our  flies  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  us. 
Next  day  we  tried  him  again,  with  just  about  the 
same  luck ;  made  him  rise  several  times  and  hooked 
him  once,  but  McGinty  didn't  like  us  well  enough 
to  desire  a  closer  acquaintance,  for,  though  we  spent 
hours  trying  to  lure  him  out  of  his  hiding  place, 
we  had  to  acknowledge  ourselves  beaten. 

While  fishing  we  saw  several  moose  along  the 
riverside,  and  one  time  got  to  within  about  twenty- 
five  feet  of  a  young  bull,  and  watched  him  feeding 
for  a  long  time.  At  night,  as  we  lay  on  our  bed 
of  balsam  boughs,  we  could  hear  the  big  creatures 
splashing  through  the  water  as  they  fed  along  the 
river's  edge,  eating  the  young  maple  leaves  and  other 
dainty  tit-bits.  It  added  greatly  to  our  interest 
having  these  animals  about  us,  but  perhaps  nothing 
gave  us  more  pleasure  than  the  rabbits,  or  varying 
hares,  as  they  should  be  called.  On  one  occasion 
we  were  camped  on  a  grassy  place  where  the  ground 
was  thickly  studded  with  the  fluffy,  silky  balls  ot 
the  seeding  dandelion.  Along  came  a  rabbit,  pay- 
ing not  the  slightest  attention  to  us  as  he  daintily 
nipped  off  the  dandelions,  eating  the  stalks  and 
discarding  the  seed  head.  Closer  and  closer  he 
came  until  he  was  within  two  feet  of  me.  Never 
have  I  seen  anything  more  beautiful,  and  I  could 


222  WILD   LIFE   AND   THE   CAMERA 

not  but  regret  that  owing  to  the  lack  of  light,  for 
it  was  after  sunset,  it  was  not  possible  to  secure  a 
photograph  of  such  an  unusual  sight.  Another 
rabbit  came  into  our  camp,  eating  bunchberry  leaves 
and  hopping  about  in  a  most  unconcerned  way 
alongside  of  the  fire  and  all  about  us,  not  even 
being  frightened  when  I  walked  away  to  our  tent 
for  the  camera ;  and,  though  the  light  was  not  very 
good,  I  got  three  fairly  satisfactory  pictures. 

After  all,  the  catching  of  fish  is  by  no  means 
the  only  pleasure  one  derives  from  a  fishing  trip. 
There  are  so  many  things  of  interest  that  one  can- 
not see  any  but  the  most  conspicuous,  and  the  time 
goes  so  quickly  that  even  these  are  not  half  seen 
or  enjoyed.  Most  people  altogether  miss  what  is, 
perhaps,  the  greatest  enchantment  of  the  early 
summer  woods — the  half  hour  preceding  the  dawn 
of  day,  when  the  birds  fill  the  air  with  their  morn- 
ing song. 

Neither  of  us  had  ever  seen  the  twelve  or  fifteen 
pounders  that  people  tell  of,  and  until  we  do  we 
will  come  back  and  try  again  for  the  three  or  four 

pounders  of  the  T River,  and  perhaps  we  may, 

even  yet,  catch  our  elusive  friend  McGinty. 


MY  FIRST  SALMON  :  A  FISHING  TRIP 
TO  NEWFOUNDLAND 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MY   FIRST   SALMON  :   A   FISHING   TRIP   TO 
NEWFOUNDLAND* 

IF  the  reader  is  no  fisherman  he  had  better  turn 
the  pages  over  until  he  find  something  more  to  his 
fancy,  for  my  extravagant  phrases — the  result  of 
fresh  enthusiasm — will  seem  to  him  like  the  ravings 
of  a  madman.  I  am  writing  while  my  first  salmon 
line  is  scarcely  dry,  and  in  spite  of  unfavourable 
conditions  this  taste  of  the  sport  has  fairly  whetted 
my  appetite.  A  resolve,  witnessed  by  the  rushing 
river,  has  been  registered  by  both  myself  and  my 
companion  to  revisit  the  same  dark  pools  next  year. 
Never  again,  however,  can  we  have  the  unforget- 
able  experience  of  catching  our  first  salmon.  The 
thought  of  the  very  best  day's  shooting  falls  flat 
when  compared  with  the  memory  of  that  moment 
of  terrific  excitement,  when  the  line  was  tightened 
after  a  rise,  and  of  the  subsequent  view  of  the  great 
fish  making  its  first  leap  from  the  water  in  its 
endeavour  to  break  away  from  the  silken  cord  which 
held  it  captive. 

My  friend  and  I  had  often  heard  of  the  wonders 
of  Newfoundland  as  a  fisherman's  paradise,  so  we 
determined  to  take  the  trip.  A  guide  was  imme- 
diately engaged,  also  two  packers,  one  of  whom 
was  to  act  as  cook.  Our  outfit  was  bought  and 

*  First  published  in  Country  Life  in  America. 
W.L.C.  Q 


226     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

packed.  In  less  than  ten  days  from  the  time  we 
had  settled  on  the  trip  we  started  by  train  to  North 
Sydney.  From  there,  after  a  night's  journey  by 
boat  to  Port-aux-Basques,  a  few  hours  by  train 
brought  us  to  the  place  where  the  guide  was  to 
meet  us.  We  found  our  men  waiting  for  us. 
They  quickly  emptied  our  trunks,  putting  all  our 
possessions  into  waterproof  canvas  bags,  with  which 
they  loaded  their  dories,  and  we  started,  skirting 
the  coast  and  reaching  our  destination — the  mouth 
of  the  river — the  following  noon. 

Our  enthusiasm  was  somewhat  damped  by  the 
accounts  we  received  of  the  fishing.  Owing  to  the 
protracted  drought  the  rivers  were  unusually  low, 
and  the  water  absolutely  clear.  Consequently  but 
few  fish  had  gone  up,  and  those  that  had  were  not 
in  a  mood  for  rising.  There  had  been  no  large 
catches  in  any  of  the  rivers,  and  very  few  big  fish 
had  been  taken.  Nor  were  there  any  indications 
of  approaching  rain. 

For  nearly  a  week  we  wasted  our  time,  as  I  now 
think,  about  the  mouth  of  the  river,  near  which 
there  were  three  fairly  good  pools.  Everyone  told 
us  no  fish  were  coming  in,  but  from  later  observa- 
tion I  believe  a  few  salmon  entered  the  river  every 
night.  On  account  of  the  lateness  of  the  season 
they  did  not  loiter  at  the  lower  pools,  but  moved 
up  stream  as  best  they  could  to  the  upper  pools. 
Most  of  the  fish,  however,  were  waiting  in  the  salt 
water  for  the  rise  of  the  river,  as  was  proved  by 
the  numbers  that  were  caught  in  the  nets  which 
lined  the  coast  near  its  mouth.  These  nets 
play  havoc  with  the  fishing,  especially  during 


MY  FIRST   SALMON  227 

the  dry  season,  when  the  salmon  remain  for  some 
time  near  the  coast  while  waiting  for  high  water. 
As  a  rule,  little  netting  is  done  after  July  1st,  but 
this  year  when  I  left  the  island  (July  15th)  the  nets 
were  still  doing  their  deadly  work. 

At  the  end  of  six  days  of  industrious  fishing, 
during  which  we  got  no  rise  nor  saw  any  sign  of 
salmon,  we  determined  to  move  our  camp  further 
up  stream  to  a  point  where  we  could  fish  ten  pools 
within  a  distance  of  three  or  four  miles. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  first  day  we  fished  the 
upper  waters.  We  had  drawn  lots  for  the  pool, 
and  my  friend  won.  The  day  was  bright  though 
chilly,  and  for  a  wonder  there  were  no  flies ;  so 
sitting  in  comfort  on  a  convenient  boulder  with 
camera  ready,  but  with  only  faint  hope  in  my  heart, 
I  watched  my  companion.  For  my  object  in 
coming  was  not  only  to  fish  but  to  secure  photo- 
graphs of  the  jumping  salmon.  Thus  was  my  sport 
and  interest  doubled,  so  also  I  may  add  were  my 
difficulties,  for  the  successful  photographing  of  the 
fish  is  by  no  means  as  easy  as  it  sounds. 

A  silver  doctor  was  the  fly  used,  and  carefully 
was  it  dropped  near  the  edge  of  the  ripples.  The 
third  cast  rose  a  fish  ;  imagine  our  excitement. 
And  at  the  end  of  eight  days  we  had  found  a  pool 
that  contained  what  we  had  travelled  over  a 
thousand  miles  to  find.  Acting  according  to  in- 
structions given  to  us  by  a  master  of  the  art,  my 
friend  let  a  few  minutes  lapse  before  casting  again — 
what  long  minutes  those  were  !  After  that  several 
casts  were  made,  but  without  result,  and  we  were 
both  becoming  frightened  lest  the  fish  was  gone, 

Q2 


228     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

when  suddenly  with  a  huge  splash  the  fly  was 
taken.  Out  ran  the  line  with  its  musical  whirr,  a 
gleam  of  silver  flashed  in  the  sunlight  as  a  grilse 
leaped  from  the  water.  Again  and  again  it  jumped 
and  ran.  For  ten  minutes  it  fought  as  no  other 
fish  ever  fights  ;  then  it  was  brought  to  gaff.  We 
felt  no  sense  of  disappointment  at  its  size — only 
four  and  a  half  pounds — for  it  was  a  salmon, 
though  a  young  one,  but  together  we  admired 
the  brilliant  silver  colour  of  this  fish — (after  the 
salmon  has  been  in  the  river  for  a  week  or  two  it 
loses  the  silver  colours,  grows  almost  golden,  and 
then  very  dark  brown) — as  we  shall  probably  never 
admire  another. 

The  next  pool,  a  small  one,  fell  to  me,  and  though 
I  cast  industriously  for  half  an  hour,  I  got  no  rise. 
In  the  next  two  pools  we  were  equally  unsuccessful. 
Then  we  reached  one  of  the  prettiest  bits  of  water 
on  the  river — a  round,  dark  pool,  overshadowed  by 
a  huge  rock.  For  the  first  ten  minutes  my  friend 
cast  in  vain,  then  suddenly,  without  any  warning, 
a  fair-sized  fish  (to  us  it  seemed  enormous)  leaped 
half  its  length  from  the  water  as  it  seized  the  fly. 
What  happened  after  that  I  scarcely  knew.  There 
was  a  great  amount  of  jumping,  "which  I  tried  to 
photograph,  a  good  deal  of  reel  music,  and  then, 
after  about  twenty  minutes,  a  cessation  of  hostilities, 
as  the  fish  retired  to  the  deep  water  and  sulked. 
We  were  using  light  grilse  rods,  so  the  time  required 
for  landing  our  fish  was  somewhat  drawn  out,  and 
with  all  the  strain  that  could  safely  be  applied,  it 
required  forty  minutes  to  bring  that  salmon  to  gaff. 
It  weighed  just  ten  pounds — not  a  large  fish,  it's 


MY   FIRST   SALMON  229 

true,  but  still  quite  good  enough  for  us,  and  I  do 
not  know  who  was  the  happier,  I  or  my  friend. 
He  had  secured  his  fish,  and  I  had  obtained  some 
interesting  photographs. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  I  got  my  first  rise,  and 
honestly  speaking,  I  felt  a  good  deal  like  the  man 
who,  the  first  time  he  went  salmon  fishing,  had  such 
a  huge  rise  that  he  thanked  his  lucky  stars  the 
monster  had  missed,  and  immediately  went  home, 
for  fear  the  next  time  the  fish  might  be  successful 
in  taking  the  fly.  My  fish  was  not  a  monster, 
probably  not  more  than  fifteen  pounds,  but  he  took 
the  fly  on  a  very  long  cast,  and  as  he  made  the  first 
frantic  jumps,  the  rushing  water  against  the  belly- 
ing line  proved  too  much  of  a  strain  and  the  leader 
parted.  Not  more  than  five  seconds  of  intense 
excitement  had  I  experienced,  but  the  thrill  was 
beyond  all  things  I  have  ever  known,  and  the  sense 
of  loss  when  the  strain  so  suddenly  left  the  rod  was 
awful.  There  is  nothing  more  disheartening  than 
the  moment  when  the  rod  springs  back  straight, 
and  you  realise  that  you  and  your  fish  have  parted 
for  ever. 

The  following  morning  we  arranged  to  move 
camp  still  further  up  stream  so  as  to  be  near  the 
best  water.  I  decided  I  would  try  my  luck  in  the 
pool  directly  in  front  of  our  camp  before  starting, 
and  before  breakfast  (about  five  o'clock)  I  cast  a 
Jock  Scott  on  the  running  water  at  the  head  of  the 
pool.  No  sooner  had  the  fly  sunk  an  inch  or  so 
than  a  fish  rose  rather  lazily  and  without  touching 
the  fly.  Instead  of  waiting  I  immediately  cast  over 
the  same  place,  and  got  another  unsuccessful  rise. 


230     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

My  heart  was  throbbing  vigorously  as  I  cast  again 
and  again  with  no  effect.  I  was  just  about  to 
change  the  Jock  Scott  for  a  silver  doctor,  when  the 
water  broke  about  the  fly,  which  was  well  below 
the  surface.  A  glimpse  of  a  dorsal  fin,  then  I  felt 
the  line  tighten,  and  instantly  the  reel  began  to 
hum  as  the  fish  ran  down  stream  before  making  its 
first  jump.  The  early  morning  sun,  which  had 
just  touched  the  pool,  was  shining  with  wonderful 
brilliancy  on  the  cliff  of  snow-white  gypsum  rock 
which  formed  the  background  to  the  scene,  and  the 
light,  reflected  from  the  water,  gleamed  on  the 
silver  scales  of  that  fish  as  it  flung  itself  in  the  air 
several  times  in  quick  succession.  Over  the  pool 
we  went,  the  fish  tugging  and  jumping  and  in 
every  way  opposing  my  efforts  to  bring  him  to 
still  water.  There  was  no  sulking  ;  whenever  not 
running,  he  jugged  with  such  force  that  I  doubted 
whether  we  could  ever  see  each  other  at  close 
quarters.  But  though  a  fierce  fight,  it  was  not  a 
long  one.  The  end  came  after  not  twenty  minutes 
of  the  keenest  excitement  I  have  ever  felt,  and  on 
landing  the  fish,  which  weighed  but  eight  pounds, 
I  must  own  to  a  sense  of  happiness  that  no  other 
sporting  experience  has  ever  given  me.  Hitherto 
I  had  thought  trout  fishing  about  perfection,  while 
my  friend  had  always  considered  the  catching  of 
small-mouth  bass  as  good  enough  for  him,  but — 
well,  we  don't  talk  about  going  trout  or  bass  fishing 
next  year.  The  Newfoundland  salmon  will  suit  us 
perfectly. 

As   a    matter   of  education,  the  beginner  who 
aspires  to  salmon  fishing  should,  before  buying  his 


MY  FIRST   SALMON  231 

outfit,  read  some  books  on  the  subject,  bearing  in 
mind  that  the  habits  of  fish  vary  greatly  in  different 
waters,  so  that  the  methods  of  fishing  are,  of  course, 
also  variable. 

Patience  is  one  of  the  main  requisites  for  success. 
I  used  to  have  a  theory  that  salmon  and  trout  fish- 
ing were  very  much  alike  beyond  the  fact  that  one 
was  on  a  larger  scale  than  the  other  ;  but  in  reality 
they  are  very  different.  If  there  is  a  trout  in  a 
pool  and  he  intends  rising,  he  usually  does  so  before 
many  casts  have  been  made.  Not  so  with  the 
salmon.  One  grilse  of  medium  size  required  an 
hour  of  incessant  casting  over  and  about  the  place 
where  I  knew  him  to  be  before  he  would  take  the 
fly,  though  several  times  he  acknowledged  its 
presence  by  a  gentle  swirl.  Such  experiences  are 
by  no  means  rare. 

Occasionally  it  is  desirable  to  change  the  fly 
for  one  of  a  different  size  or  pattern,  but  as  a 
rule  if  a  fish  does  not  rise  to  a  good  standard  fly, 
he  will  not  be  tempted  by  a  change.  There  seems 
to  be  no  possible  way  of  proving  whether  fish  are 
sensible  to  colours,  or  whether  once  they  are  in  a 
rising  mood  they  will  not  rise  to  anything  moving 
that  has  more  or  less  the  shape  of  a  fly.  Trout 
may  frequently  be  seen  rising  to  pieces  of  leaves  or 
flowers  as  they  float  down  stream,  while  at  other 
times  flies  of  different  kinds  may  struggle  on  the 
surface  of  the  same  water  unnoticed.  It  is  probable 
that  the  man  who  goes  out  with,  we  will  say,  three 
good  flies,  such  as  the  silver  doctor,  the  Jock  Scott 
and  dusty  miller,  will,  in  the  long  run,  do  just  as 
well  as  the  one  who  has  his  book  filled  with 


232     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

innumerable  varieties.  Small  flies  are,  according 
to  some  authorities,  best  for  bright  days,  and  large 
ones  for  dull  days,  and  for  early  morning  and  late 
evening. 

The  season  for  salmon  fishing  in  the  rivers  on  the 
western  side  of  Newfoundland  is  June,  July,  and 
August.  The  best  known  rivers,  such  as  the 
Codroy,  Robinson's,  Grand  and  Harry's,  are 
usually  pretty  well  occupied  (frequently  there  is 
a  camp  at  nearly  every  pool),  and  it  is  well  to  find 
out  definitely  from  the  guide  just  how  many  pools 
will  be  at  your  disposal  before  selecting  your  river. 
There  are,  however,  many  rivers  in  Newfoundland 
as  good  or  superior,  but  not  as  accessible  from  the 
line  of  railway.  Among  those  I  would  recommend 
as  good  rivers  are  the  Gander,  Placentia,  Salinonier, 
and  many  rivers  along  the  various  coast  lines  acces- 
sible by  the  steamboat  service  around  Newfoundland. 
One  good  pool  will  often  afford  enough  sport. 
Catching  one  fish  does  not  seem  to  frighten  the 
other  occupants  of  a  pool — several  times  we  caught 
three  or  more  fish  from  one  pool  in  quick  succession, 
but  it  is  unpleasant  to  be  so  restricted,  especially  in 
a  wild  country  where  all  fishing  is  free. 

As  a  rule  the  salmon  in  the  Newfoundland  waters 
do  not  run  very  large.  Anything  over  twenty-five 
pounds  is  very  unusual,  though  some  are  taken 
which  weigh  even  thirty  or  more.  In  different 
rivers  the  size  of  the  fish  varies  greatly.  Whether 
or  not  this  is  due  to  the  amount  of  netting  that  is 
done  on  the  coast,  or  to  natural  causes,  is  difficult 
to  say.  It  is  certain  that  the  nets  hold  the  larger 
fish,  while  the  size  of  the  mesh  permits  the  escape 


MY   FIRST   SALMON  233 

of  the  small  ones.  Could  netting  be  stopped,  there 
is  no  possible  doubt  that  the  fishing  would  at  once 
improve.  In  years  gone  by  netting  was  allowed  in 
the  rivers  themselves  ;  and  even  to-day,  though  it  is 
contrary  to  the  game  laws,  and  though  efforts  are 
made  to  patrol  the  accessible  rivers,  it  is  done  to 
some  slight  extent,  the  railway  section  hands  being 
probably  the  chief  offenders.  We,  ourselves,  found 
signs  of  nets  near  several  pools. 

But  taking  all  the  conditions  into  consideration, 
it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  rivers  are  very  fairly 
well  protected  for  the  angler,  and  we  should  be 
thankful  to  the  country  which  holds  its  waters  in 
trust  for  all  who  care  to  avail  themselves  of  the 
splendid  fishing  equally  free  to  all — to  the  rich  and 
to  the  poor.  Would  that  other  countries  regarded 
their  fishing  rights  in  the  same  broad-minded  way. 


SALMON  FISHING  IN  NEW- 
FOUNDLAND 


CHAPTER   XVII 

SALMON    FISHING    IN    NEWFOUNDLAND* 

FOR  nearly  two  wreeks  fishermen's  luck — bad 
luck — had  been  ours.  Clear  days  and  cloudy,  hot 
days  and  cold  had  proved  equally  ineffective  in 
making  the  salmon  rise  to  our  flies.  In  vain  had 
we  used  every  pattern  in  the  books  and  whipped 
the  waters  from  the  time  when  the  sun  struggled 
with  the  morning  mists  till  the  glories  of  the 
northern  sunsets  had  been  lost  in  the  gathering 
darkness.  Four  or  five  fish  only  had  we  taken  and 
those  small  ones,  and  we  felt  that  the  time  to 
become  discouraged  was  about  due.  Still,  each  day 
we  started  out  with  renewed  hopes  and  confidence, 
for  it  is  hard  to  thoroughly  discourage  the  ardent 
angler,  and  so  we  changed  flies  and  changed  flies 
till  our  leaden  hopes  were  nigh  worn  out.  Had  we 
not  seen  fish,  perhaps  all  this  perseverance  would 
have  died  early,  but  the  river  was  literally  alive  with 
fish  of  all  size,  from  the  sprightly  grilse  that  leaped 
high  in  the  air  and  scattered  the  glistening  drops 
like  rotary  wheels  to  big  heavy  salmon  that  would 
come  to  the  water's  surface  with  the  slow  delibera- 
tion of  miniature  whales  coming  up  to  blow.  As  we 
stood  in  the  pools  they  would  play  around  us,  even 
jumping  over  our  lines,  but  take  a  fly,  oh  no ! 
Once  in  a  while,  just  by  way  of  aggravation,  they 

*  First  published  in  Country  Life  in  America. 


238     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

would  come  up  slowly  and  gently  toward  the  fly. 
It  was  certainly  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a 
double-haloed  saint.  But  luck,  whether  it  be  good 
or  bad,  always  changes  if  only  you  jvait  long 
enough,  and  so  one  fine  day  the  spell  broke,  for 
within  five  minutes  after  we  started  fishing,  my 
companion  became  connected  with  a  fourteen- 
pounder  which  put  up  a  good  fight  and  came  to 
the  gaff  after  about  fifteen  minutes.  For  an  hour  or 
so  nothing  else  happened,  so  we  moved  to  another 
pool,  and  almost  immediately  I  hooked  and  took  a 
medium-sized  fish.  For  several  hours  we  worked 
hard  trying  various  flies.  Two  had  at  last  risen  to 
a  small  and  much-worn  "yellow  sally."  On  the 
second  or  third  cast  it  was  taken  by  a  nineteen- 
pound  fish.  It  was  quite  evident  that  only  by  using 
the  greatest  care  could  it  be  landed,  for,  as  I  have 
said,  the  fly  was  badly  worn  and  the  snell  (it  was  a 
trout  fly),  was  in  no  condition  to  stand  much  strain. 
Those  were  ticklish  moments.  Each  time  the  fish 
broke  water  we  expected  to  see  him  get  off,  but 
good  luck  was  with  us  this  day,  and  just  as  the  gaff 
struck  home  the  snell  broke.  One  more  jump  and 
surely  we  would  never  have  seen  that  fish  at  close 
quarters.  Needless  to  say  my  friend  was  in  a  most 
cheerful  frame  of  mind,  for,  up  to  this,  the  largest 
salmon  he  had  taken  was  thirteen  pounds,  so  here 
he  had  broken  his  record  twice  within  a  few  hours. 
The  rest  of  the  day  we  devoted  to  the  pool  in 
which  the  first  fish  had  been  taken.  It  was  a  very 
large  one  and  contained  plenty  of  good  fish.  There 
was  here  one  in  particular  that  I  had  set  my  heart 
on  catching.  He  was  a  large  fish,  and  though  he  had 


FISHING   IN   NEWFOUNDLAND     239 

risen  at  least  once  every  day,  he  never  touched  the 
fly,  but,  as  this  was  apparently  our  lucky  day,  it 
seemed  only  wise  to  devote  my  energies  to  his 
lordship,  and  so  I  cast  over  him  all  the  afternoon, 
trying  every  fly  I  owned.  Once  he  acknowledged 
the  "  yellow  sally,"  but  fortunately  did  not  take  it. 
I  say  fortunately,  because  shortly  afterward  a  small 
fish  took  it  and  forgot  to  return  it  to  me  ;  evidently 
it  had  been  worn  out  by  its  previous  use  on  bass,  of 
which  it  had  landed  over  thirty.  Supper-time 
came  and,  as  soon  as  the  inner  man  had  been 
satisfied,  I  returned  again  to  the  object  of  my 
attentions.  Once  more  I  began  with  the  orthodox 
flies,  but  without  result.  Then,  in  desperation,  a 
very  large  bass  fly  was  tried,  and  no  sooner  had  it 
touched  the  water  than  my  big  friend  made  a 
frantic  but  unsuccessful  rush  for  it.  For  an  hour 
or  more  I  tried  the  coaxing  qualities  of  all  sorts  of 
bass  flies,  and  at  last  picked  out  a  large  royal  coach- 
man which  had  been  in  my  book  for  over  four 
years  and  was  pretty  well  dried  out,  and  certainly 
in  poor  condition  to  withstand  the  strain  of  a  large 
fish,  but  it  was  about  the  only  fly  that  had  not 
been  used,  so  on  it  went.  The  sun  had  already 
set  and  the  gorgeous  crimson  glow  illuminated  the 
trees.  As  the  line  touched  the  water  it  disturbed 
the  placid  surface  of  the  big,  dark  and  smooth 
running  pool  and  the  thin  ripples  looked  like 
quivering  threads  of  glistening  gold.  Slowly  the 
royal  coachman  floated  along,  for  it  was  still  dry 
and  its  large  white  wings  stood  out  in  strong 
contrast  to  the  darkening  background,  when,  with- 
out the  slightest  warning,  there  was  an  upheaval  in 


240     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

the  water,  and  the  fly  vanished  ;  surely  this  could 
not  be  my  big  friend,  he  would  never  be  so  gentle, 
for  the  line  was  leading  slowly  toward  where  I 
stood,  and  I  reeled  in  carefully,  when,  ye  gods  and 
little  fishes,  how  suddenly  the  scene  changed !  The 
line  fairly  flew  through  the  water.  Check  it !  Why 
I  had  not  the  slightest  power  to  do  so,  and  in  an 
instant,  at  the  end  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of 
line,  out  leaped  my  big  friend  and  thud,  how  the 
water  splashed  when  the  big  heavy  body  struck  it 
as  he  fell  full  length.  Would  that  fly  hold  ?  Had 
I  line  enough  ?  Would  the  light  greenheart  grilse- 
rod  that  I  was  using  stand  the  strain  ?  Would  the 
fish  leave  the  pool  and  go  down  the  falls  ?  These 
and  a  hundred  other  questions  raced  through  my 
mind  as  I  played  the  fish.  Sometimes  for  many 
minutes  he  would  sulk  at  the  bottom  of  the  pool, 
and  it  seemed  surely  as  though  I  was  fast  to  a 
rock.  Then  again  he  would  rush  with  frantic 
speed  down  toward  the  falls  and  I  had,  at  all  cost, 
to  turn  him  by  straining  the  rod  to  its  limit.  The 
twilight  was  rapidly  giving  way  to  the  approaching 
night  and  the  question  of  gaffing  was  becoming 
more  and  more  difficult.  Nine  times  I  brought 
that  fish  close  to  the  guide,  but  with  the  uncertain 
light  he  was  unable  to  see  well  enough  to  use  the 
gaff  with  accuracy ;  each  time  he  moved  the  fish 
would  start  out  with  renewed  vigour,  and  each 
time  I  thought  he  would  surely  get  away,  but  still 
the  hook  held,  and  at  last  when  I  brought  him  close 
to  the  guide,  I  raised  him  slowly  and  steadily  until 
the  dorsal  fin  was  visible,  and  instantly  the  gaff  was 
struck  and  the  guide,  raising  the  big  fish  clear  of 


Leaping  Salmon  ;    the  line  is  faintly  visible. 


FISHING  IN  NEWFOUNDLAND    241 

the  water,  stumbled  over  on  the  slippery  rocks  and 
tugged  the  prize  on  to  the  grass  ;  and  I  wiped  five 
hundred  mosquitoes  from  my  neck,  and  let  my 
heart  resume  its  normal  and  proper  position.  By 
the  light  of  a  match  we  examined  the  fly.  One  of 
the  two  snells  had  parted  and  the  other  one  was 
just  about  ready  to  go.  It  was  a  close  shave. 
The  scales  ran  up  to  24 £  pounds,  and  I  feel  now 
that  a  24^-pound  salmon  with  a  light  rod,  a  decrepit 
fly,  and  no  daylight  makes  a  combination  calculated 
to  give  as  much  excitement  as  could  be  had  with  a 
forty-pounder  under  ordinary  conditions  and  with 
a  heavy  two-handed  rod,  especially  if  it  is  your  first 
large  fish. 

We  remained  on  this  river  for  nearly  two  weeks, 
when  we  decided  to  try  our  luck  in  one  still  further 
north.  So,  choosing  a  calm  morning,  we  embarked 
in  our  dories  and  by  night  had  reached  the  mouth 
of  the  river  we  sought.  From  all  accounts  the 
walking  was  so  bad  that  to  take  up  our  outfit, 
photographic  and  other,  to  the  head  waters,  where 
we  hoped  to  find  the  fish,  would  be  a  task  of  very 
considerable  difficulty.  We  concluded  it  would  be 
better  to  put  everything  in  the  canoe  and  pull  or 
pole  the  light  craft  up  stream,  provided  there  was 
sufficient  water.  So  far  no  boat  had  ever  been  up 
to  the  falls,  distant  about  twenty-five  miles,  for  the 
water  was  very  shallow  in  most  parts,  while  in 
others  the  stretches  of  rough  rocks  and  dangerous 
rapids  might  make  the  trip  impossible.  Of  course 
it  rained  hard  the  morning  we  started.  It  nearly 
always  does  in  Newfoundland  I  find.  When  one 
is  used  to  such  conditions  it  is  quite  astonishing 

W.L.C.  R 


242     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

how  little  they  interfere  with  one's  happiness.  We 
wereprepared  for  almost  anything,  so  we  did  not 
care.  The  first  part  was  fairly  easy  going;  my 
companion  and  I  walked  along  the  bank,  on  the 
rocks  or  in  the  water  according  to  the  conditions, 
while  the  men  pushed,  pulled,  poled  and  swore  at 
the  canoe ;  and  so  we  proceeded,  casting  a  fly 
occasionally  on  the  likely-looking  pools,  but  with- 
out results,  except  a  few  small  trout,  which  no  man 
likes  when  he  is  out  for  salmon.  How  strange  it 
is  that  a  man's  attitude  toward  fish  should  change 
so  completely  under  different  conditions.  Let  him 
go  out  along  his  favourite  stream  near  home  and 
come  back  at  the  end  of  a  very  hard  day's  work 
with  five  or  six  trout,  the  largest  perhaps  not  more 
than  twelve  or  fourteen  inches  long,  and  he  feels 
supremely  happy;  but  let  the  same  man,  when 
fishing  for  salmon,  hook  a  two  or  three  pound  trout, 
he  indignantly  flips  it  off  in  disgust.  Yet  what 
would  he  not  give  to  catch  such  a  fish  in  the  home 
streams  ? 

The  severe  rain  made  travelling  rather  hard,  so 
camp  was  made  early  near  a  good-looking  pool, 
from  which  we  took  a  couple  of  small  salmon  just 
before  dusk.  Next  morning  while  breakfast  was 
cooking  we  got  two  more.  The  day  was  bright 
and  clear,  so  that  we  thoroughly  enjoyed  working 
our  way  up  stream.  Toward  noon  we  stopped  at 
a  small  and  not  very  interesting-looking  pool,  and 
while  the  inevitable  pot  of  tea  was  being  boiled 
(that  is  the  way  they  make  it  in  the  woods)  my 
friend  tried  the  pool.  The  result  was  a  perfect 
surprise,  for  within  two  hours  we  caught  fifteen 


FISHING  IN  NEWFOUNDLAND     243 

fish,  ranging  from  seven  to  eleven  pounds,  and  all 
were  extremely  gamey.  During  the  first  part  of 
those  two  hours  I  was  kept  busy  with  the  camera, 
but  all  my  plates  were  soon  used.  And  I  had 
made  about  eighteen  exposures,  many  of  which 
proved  quite  successful.  It  is  scarcely  necessary 
to  say  that  of  the  fifteen  fish  only  enough  for  our 
immediate  needs  were  kept,  the  rest  were  released 
without  being  handled.  Later  in  the  afternoon 
the  sky  became  clouded  and  the  air  sultry,  an  ideal 
day  for  mosquitoes  and  black  flies.  To  say  that 
they  came  out  in  thousands  expresses  it  mildly — 
they  were  in  millions.  Never  have  I  seen  them  so 
numerous.  Before  we  could  make  camp  it  was 
necessary  to  build  big  smudges  all  around  the 
proposed  site.  So  great  was  the  torture  inflicted 
by  these  tiny  pests  that  one  of  the  guides,  a  man 
born  and  bred  in  the  country,  broke  down  completely 
and  cried  like  a  child.  Next  morning  saw  us 
nearing  our  goal,  but  the  canoe  had  suffered  badly. 
The  paint  was  almost  all  scraped  from  the  bottom, 
and  in  places  the  canvas  was  so  severely  worn  that 
the  wooden  sheathing  was  plainly  visible.  Two  or 
three  miles  over  falls  and  shallows,  and  we  entered 
the  dead  water,  or  lagoon,  which  was  the  main  head 
of  the  river  and  into  which  fell  one  of  the  finest 
waterfalls  I  have  ever  seen.  How  high  it  was  I 
would  scarcely  venture  to  say  ;  it  was,  however, 
not  alone  the  height,  but  the  beauty  of  the 
surroundings  which  made  such  an  impressive  sight. 
Now  the  question  was,  would  we  find  salmon  in 
this  quietwater  or  in  the  seething  pool  at  the  foot  of 
the  falls  ?  Thousands  of  fish  must  have  come  up 

R2 


244     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

the  river  during  the  past  six  or  seven  weeks  of 
the  run.  Except  in  three  or  four  of  the  pools 
below,  there  were  none  but  the  stragglers,  and  as 
they  could  not,  of  course,  go  up  those  perpendicular 
falls  it  was  evident  that  they  must  be  somewhere 
near  by.  Perhaps  they  were,  but  though  we  fished 
persistently  for  several  days  we  only  caught  a 
couple  of  small  ones,  and  saw  or  heard  the  jumps 
of  half  a  dozen  or  so.  Neither  could  we  discover 
their  whereabouts  by  paddling  or  drifting  over  the 
lagoon  when  the  water  was  shallow  enough  to 
allow  the  bottom  to  be  clearly  seen.  It  is,  of  course, 
quite  possible  that  the  fish  were  in  the  very  deep 
pools  below  the  falls,  waiting  for  conditions  to  be 
entirely  satisfactory  for  spawning. 

I  was  very  anxious  to  see  something  of  the 
caribou  and  their  life  during  the  summer  ;  hitherto 
all  my  experience  of  them  was  confined  to  the 
autumn  migration.  Some  days  were  therefore 
spent  among  the  magnificent  hills  above  where  we 
had  camped.  This  upper  region  reminded  me  very 
much  of  the  English  lake  district,  the  marvellous 
lakes  and  streams,  and  the  great  rugged  rock- 
strewn  hills  losing  their  summits  in  the  shifting 
mists.  The  few  caribou  we  saw  proved  to  be  very 
shy,  and  at  no  time  was  I  able  to  approach  them 
near  enough  for  the  limitations  of  the  camera. 
Meat  was  needed  as  fish  was  so  scarce,  and  also  we 
wanted  some  material  that  would  render  the  canoe 
watertight  and  strong  enough  to  withstand  the 
rough  usage  she  was  bound  to  sustain  during  the 
return  trip.  The  conditions  were  daily  getting 
worse ;  no  rain  having  fallen  for  several  days,  the 


FISHING   IN   NEWFOUNDLAND     245 

river  would  soon  be  too  shallow  to  float  the  canoe, 
and  she  would  have  to  be  dragged  over  many 
miles  of  gravel  and  rock.  To  protect  her  we  shot 
a  couple  of  caribou  and  laced  the  hides  tightly 
across  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  thereby  giving  her 
a  new  lease  of  life.  With  this  added  weight  it 
became  necessary  to  reduce  the  load  as  much  as 
possible,  so  each  of  us  had  to  carry  a  pack  and 
make  our  way  as  best  we  could  back  to  the  mouth 
of  the  river.  It  was  a  hard  day's  march  across 
country,  over  soft  spongy  bogs  where  the  wild 
geese  greeted  us  with  their  musical  honking, 
through  beaver  swamps  where  the  tangled  alders 
tripped  us  and  the  insect  pests  devoured  us, 
through  dense  forests  of  diminutive  firs  and 
spruces,  and  so  on  down  to  the  bay  in  which  the 
river  we  had  fished  with  such  pleasure  lost  itself  in 
the  vastness  of  the  sea. 

No  one  who  has  once  tasted  of  the  joys  of 
salmon  fishing  will  question  the  statement  that  of 
all  game  fish  the  salmon  easily  takes  first  place. 
And  yet,  if  the  majority  of  enthusiastic  fishermen 
were  asked  why  they  did  not  indulge  in  this 
thrilling  sport,  they  would  say  that  it  is  too  expen- 
sive, or  that  open  rivers  are  not  to  be  found  except, 
possibly,  in  regions  too  remote  for  their  time  and 
purse,  and  so,  labouring  under  this  delusion,  they 
continue  to  amuse  themselves  with  bass,  muska- 
lunge,  and  other  interesting  but  nevertheless 
inferior  forms  of  fishing.  So  far  as  salmon  water 
in  the  eastern  part  of  Canada  is  concerned,  there  is 
very  little  that  has  not  been  leased  by  clubs  or  by 
those  fortunate  individuals  who  have  the  means  with 


246     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

which  they  can  gratify  their  desires.  But  for  the 
man  of  moderate  income,  who  counts  on  spending 
from  thirty  to  sixty  pounds  (one  hundred  and  fifty  to 
perhaps  three  hundred  dollars)  for  his  well-earned 
vacation  of  two  or  three  weeks,  there  is  practically 
unlimited  open  salmon  water  in  the  island  of  New- 
foundland. So  far  as  I  know,  this  is  the  only 
country  in  which  laws  absolutely  prevent  the 
leasing  of  rivers,  either  by  individuals  or  clubs. 
The  Government  claims  the  rivers  and  a  certain 
amount  of  the  adjoining  land  which  is  open  to  any 
man  who  would  fish.  This  policy,  regarded  even 
from  a  purely  business  point  of  view,  has  every- 
thing to  recommend  it.  Every  sportsman  coming 
to  the  country  leaves  anywhere  from  seventy-five 
dollars  to  several  hundred  dollars,  and  the  guides 
get  pretty  steady  employment.  When  a  club  takes 
a  river  the  fishing  rights  are  restricted  to  a  very  few 
men,  most  of  whom  will  seldom  visit  the  club. 
And  when  an  individual  leases  water  he  is  usually 
very  enthusiastic  for  the  first  season  or  so,  then 
other  places  claim  his  attention  and  the  river  will 
be  idle  often  for  many  years  in  succession,  no  man 
getting  the  benefit  of  it,  either  as  guides  or  as 
fishermen.*  It  is  true  that  the  fish  do  not  run  so 
large  as  those  found  in  the  Restigouche  or  some  of 
the  other  well-known  rivers,  but  then  we  cannot  all 
fish  those  rivers,  and  the  fishing  in  Newfoundland 
is  quite  good  enough  to  satisfy  anyone  not 
absolutely  spoiled  by  unusually  large  fish.  Under 
ordinary  conditions  a  man  should  be  able  to 

*  Since  this  was  written  the  game  and  fishing  laws  have  been 
somewhat  changed,  and  now  a  rod  licence  is  compulsory. 


FISHING   IN  NEWFOUNDLAND     247 

average  three  or  four  fish  each  day.  Slack  days  will 
come,  of  course,  but  they  are  usually  offset  by  days 
of  exceptionally  good  sport  when  one  may,  perhaps, 
land  as  many  as  twenty  to  one's  own  rod.  The  size 
of  the  fish  is  not  by  any  means  the  only  gauge  of 
the  sport,  for  the  comparative  weight  of  tackle  and 
fish  have  to  be  taken  into  account.  A  large  salmon 
on  a  heavy  two-handed  rod  will  not  give  as  much 
sport  as  a  much  smaller  fish  on  a  light  grilse  rod. 
And  then  again  there  comes  the  question  of  the 
water :  rough,  rapid  water  increases  the  excitement 
enormously,  while  working  from  a  canoe  or  boat 
on  a  large  quiet  pool  greatly  reduces  the  fun,  in 
that  it  makes  the  landing  of  the  fish  a  matter  of 
far  greater  certainty.  The  whole  sport  consists  in 
balancing  the  chances  between  fish  and  fisherman 
so  that  the  element  of  uncertainty  is  developed  as 
far  as  possible.  Though  the  average  salmon  in 
Newfoundland  waters  will  not  run  over  ten  or 
twelve  pounds,  there  are  plenty  that  will  weigh  over 
twenty,  and  there  is  always  the  chance  of  getting 
a  thirty  or  thirty-five  pounder.  The  different 
rivers  seem  each  to  have  their  own  sized  fish. 
One  river  will  seldom  or  ever  give  anything  over 
ten  or  twelve  pounds,  while  another  has  a  probable 
limit  of  fifteen,  and  so  on,  apparently  without  any 
particular  reason.  So  also  is  it  with  the  time  when 
the  best  fishing  may  be  had.  One  river  isbest  in 
June  while  another,  but  a  few  miles  away,  is  not 
good  until  August.  The  man  who  wants  three 
months  or  more  of  continued  fishing  can  readily 
find  it  by  following  the  run  of  fish  as  they  come  to 
the  various  rivers.  If  your  time  is  limited  and  you 


248     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

are  restricted  to  a  certain  two  or  three  weeks,  don't 
plan  to  go  to  any  one  river  until  you  have  ascer- 
tained from  reliable  sources  that  that  is  the  time 
when  the  fishing  is  good.  Don't  waste  valuable 
time  on  a  river  waiting  for  the  fish  to  come,  but  go 
where  they  are.  If  when  you  get  there  you  find 
the  pools  full  of  fish  that  will  not  rise  to  the  fly,  do 
not  be  disappointed,  for  such  experiences  are  by 
no  means  uncommon,  and  you  will  often  strike  an 
"  off  "  day.  No  fish  is  more  aggravatingly  capricious 
than  the  salmon,  both  as  to  the  time  when  it  suits 
his  lordship  to  rise  and  to  the  kind  and  size  of  fly 
he  will  deign  to  notice.  Generally  speaking,  four 
or  five  of  the  standard  flies  will  answer  all  purposes, 
especially  if  you  have  them  in  several  sizes.  Of 
these  the  Jock  Scott,  silver  doctor,  Durham 
ranger,  fiery  brown,  and  the  fairy  may  be  said  to  be 
the  standard  flies  for  Newfoundland.  No.  8  is  the 
size  which  will  probably  be  found  most  useful. 
Nos.  4,  6,  and  10  are  also  good  at  times,  and  occa- 
sionally a  very  large  size  will  prove  a  fascinating 
lure.  No  rule  can  possibly  be  laid  down,  for  rules  as 
to  flies  for  salmon  fishing  are  like  those  of  the  English 
language  "mostly  composed  of  exceptions."  One 
day  you  flatter  yourself  that  you  have  at  last  found 
the  combination,  only  to  be  sure  the  next  day  that 
you  haven't.  After  keeping  track  of  the  number  of 
rises  we  had  to  each  pattern  of  fly  last  summer  we 
were  absolutely  unable  to  say  which  was  the  best 
under  any  particular  condition.  In  one  river  the 
famous  Jock  Scott  seemed  by  far  the  best,  in 
another  it  would  be  the  silver  doctor ;  while, 
perhaps,  had  we  visited  these  same  rivers  a  week  or 


FISHING    IN   NEWFOUNDLAND     249 

two  earlier  or  later  our  experience  would  have  been 
entirely  different.  On  one  river  where  we  had  most 
excellent  sport  the  yellow  sally  was  the  fly,  while 
the  royal  coachman  (on  No.  4  hook)  came  next.  We 
had  but  three  yellow  sallies  with  us,  and  these  were 
completely  worn  out  by  hard  use.  For  late  evening 
fishing,  if  all  else  fails,  I  would  advise  using  a  very 
large,  light- coloured  fly  with  a  floating  body.  This 
will  occasionally  coax  a  large  fish  from  his  hiding- 
place  when  he  would  not  notice  a  sunken  fly,  regard- 
less of  size.  This  advice,  while  not  strictly  ortho- 
dox, is  nevertheless  founded  on  actual  experience. 

When  fish  are  rising  well  there  is  no  need  to 
worry  much  about  the  kind  of  fly  to  use,  but  there 
are  times  when,  though  they  are  jumping  all  around 
you,  and  even  playing  skipping-rope  with  your  line, 
it  requires  something  quite  out  of  the  ordinary 
to  coax  them.  Then  it  is  that  the  reserve  list 
of  out-of-the-way  patterns  comes  in  handy  and 
perhaps  saves  the  day  for  you.  Some  fishermen 
contend  that  it  is  useless  to  change  the  fly  very 
frequently,  nevertheless  it  will  be  very  often 
observed  that  the  first  few  casts  with  a  newly- 
changed  fly  will  rise  a  fish  which  has  been  entirely 
oblivious  to  the  charms  of  the  former  fly.  Each 
man  has  ideas  on  how  fish  can  best  be  coaxed,  and 
the  delightful  part  of  it  is  that  each  man  knows  he 
is  right.  One  will  say  that  when  the  fly  is  cast  it 
should  remain  quietly  on  the  water  and  be  allowed 
to  float  quietly  down  stream,  while  another  insists 
that  the  tip  of  the  rod  should  be  kept  constantly 
moving,  in  order  that  the  fly  shall  be  given  a  life- 
like action  of  swimming.  Personally  I  do  not 


250     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

think  it  makes  very  much  difference,  though  I 
believe  that  when  the  fly  is  kept  moving  you  are 
more  apt  to  have  the  line  under  better  control  and 
with  less  of  a  belly  to  it.  And  after  all  that  is  one 
of  the  most  important  things  to  keep  in  mind  ;  a 
slack  line  loses  many  fish,  so  do  not  cast  a  line  that 
is  longer  than  you  can  control.  One  fly  only 
should  be  used,  as  there  is  danger,  when  you  hook 
a  fish,  that  the  free  fly  may  catch  on  a  rock  or 
snag.  Whether  to  use  the  double  or  single  hook 
fly  is  purely  a  matter  of  opinion.  I  have  seen  just 
as  many  fish  lost  with  one  as  the  other.  On  general 
principles,  the  single  fly  is  the  most  sportsmanlike, 
but  when  very  small  flies  are  used  it  is  quite  pardon- 
able to  use  the  double  hook,  even  though  it  is 
doubtful  whether  it  is  more  effective.  Good 
leaders  are  a  very  important  part  of  the  outfit, 
but  the  quality  is  scarcely  more  important  than 
that  they  shall  be  thoroughly  soaked  before  use. 
The  heavier  the  leader  the  more  necessary  is  it  that 
it  shall  not  be  used  dry.  A  heavy  line  is  desirable, 
as  it  reduces  the  difficulty  of  casting,  especially 
when  there  is  a  strong  head  wind.  When  there  is 
danger  of  the  salmon  running  down  stream 
through  rapid  water,  a  very  long  line  will  be 
needed,  not  less  than  100  yards.  Under  ordinary 
conditions  50  or  60  yards  is  long  enough.  It  is 
not  a  bad  plan,  if  you  do  wish  to  use  a  very  large 
reel,  to  splice  a  length  of  30  or  40  yards  of  fine 
linen  line  to  the  inner  end  ;  this  will  occupy  very 
little  space  and  be  a  good  reserve.  The  reel  or 
winch  should  be  of  the  single-action  pattern.  The 
less  complicated  the  better,  but  with  adjustable 


FISHING   IN   NEWFOUNDLAND     251 

tension  to  prevent  over-running.  Do  not  forget  to 
keep  it  well  oiled,  or  the  bearings  will  soon  wear 
out.  For  a  gaff  it  is  far  better  to  use  the  plain 
tang  hook,  which  is  lashed  to  a  suitable  stick,  than 
any  of  the  screw-in  kind,  which  are  apt  to  turn  at 
the  critical  moment.  The  automatic  gaff  is,  like 
the  automatic  reel,  undesirable. 

In  Newfoundland  salmon  fishing  there  is  no  best 
time  of  day.  Almost  any  hour  may  be  good  ; 
perhaps  from  10  to  11  in  the  morning,  and  from 
3  to  4  in  the  afternoon  are,  if  anything,  the  best 
hours.  The  kind  of  day  for  the  best  fishing  is 
another  uncertainty.  On  one  absolutely  clear, 
quiet,  hot  day  we  got  twelve  fish  from  one  pool  in 
two  hours  (from  10  to  12  o'clock)  with  one  rod. 
Then  again  we  had  good  luck  on  dark,  cold  days, 
but  as  a  rule  you  cannot  count  on  much  luck 
during  rain.  After  all  is  said  and  done,  the  only 
absolutely  sound  advice  that  can  safely  be  given  to 
the  salmon  fisherman  is  :  "  To  be  on  hand  when  the 
fish  are  rising,  and  give  them  the  fly  they  want." 
How  to  do  these  two  things  no  man  can  say  with 
anything  approaching  exactness,  and  therein  is  one 
of  the  fascinations  of  the  sport.  If  we  could  find  a 
formula  by  which  we  knew  we  could  catch  a 
salmon,  the  whole  pleasure  would  be  lost,  but, 
fortunately,  no  modern  science  seems  to  be  able  to 
fathom  the  ways  of  the  game  fish,  and  so  we  may 
continue  in  our  uncertain  way  to  catch  fish  if,  when, 
and  where  we  can. 

Now  the  popular  idea  that  Newfoundland  is  a 
very  far  distant  and  un-get-at-able  place  is  much 
exaggerated.  Let  us  first  take  it  from  the  American 


252     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

end  :  One  can  leave  Boston  in  the  morning,  and  in 
fifty-two  hours  be  actually  fishing,  that  is,  if  one 
goes  to  the  nearest  and  most  convenient  rivers.  It 
might  take  from  one  to  two  or  even  three  days 
longer  if  you  would  go  to  those  that  are  more  out- 
of-the-way,  where  in  most  cases  camping  would,  of 
course,  be  necessary.  As  a  rule  the  accommodation 
to  be  found  on  the  island  is  not  suited  to  those  of 
fastidious  tastes.  And  though,  of  course,  there  are 
exceptions  to  this  rule,  it  is,  on  the  whole,  far  better 
to  camp,  for  not  only  do  you  thus  enjoy  greater 
comfort,  but  you  can  pitch  your  tent  alongside  of  the 
pool  where  you  expect  to  fish,  thereby  saving  what  is 
frequently  a  long,  tedious  walk  both  before  and  after 
your  day's  fishing.  If  you  can  camp  within  a  reason- 
able distance  of  a  settlement,  so  much  the  better,  for 
you  can  then  procure  fresh  milk,  butter,  eggs  and 
bread,  all  of  which  add  materially  to  one's  comfort. 
The  comparative  cost  of  the  two  methods  is 
difficult  to  calculate.  On  the  whole,  camping  is 
the  cheaper,  even  counting  the  wear  and  tear  of 
the  outfit.  From  the  point  of  view  of  the  man  in 
England,  Newfoundland  is  neither  so  very  far 
away  nor  so  difficult  to  reach.  The  steamer  will 
take  you  directly  to  St.  John  in  a  few  days,  and 
from  St.  John  it  is  but  a  day  to  the  salmon  waters. 
But  the  question  of  camping  versus  staying  in  a 
house  should  be  very  carefully  considered.  The 
American,  when  he  goes  fishing,  expects  to  camp. 
Not  so  with  the  Englishman.  He  camps  when 
after  big  game  but  not  when  he  fishes.  To  my 
mind  the  camping  is  in  every  way  preferable.  Not 
only  is  it  healthier,  but  if  you  are  fond  of  the  open 


FISHING   IN   NEWFOUNDLAND     253 

and  not  too  much  wedded  to  what  you  consider 
are  your  comforts  (frequently  purely  imaginary) 
you  will  find  that  the  camping  adds  immeasurably 
to  the  pleasures  of  fishing.  Remember,  however, 
that  Newfoundland  methods  of  camping  are  very 
primitive ;  carrying  heavy  outfits  is  not  only 
undesirable  but  often  impossible.  So  give  up 
portable  beds,  tables,  chairs,  heavy  kit-bags  and 
similar  impediments,  and  follow  the  custom  of  the 
country  by  going  light,  really  light,  weighing  the 
ounces  as  well  as  the  pounds.  The  outfit  for  New- 
foundland is  much  the  same  as  would  be  required 
for  Maine,  except  that  more  blankets  and  heavier 
clothing  are  frequently  necessary.  Owing  to  the 
prevalence  of  rain  and  fog,  everything  should  be 
carried  in  strong  waterproof  canvas  bags,  and  it  is 
well  to  be  provided  with  a  light  canvas  square, 
large  enough  to  place  over  your  dinner-table  and 
protect  you  during  meals.  Eating  in  your  sleeping 
tent  is  not  altogether  satisfactory  unless  perhaps 
your  tent  is  of  unusual  and  therefore  inconvenient 
size.  The  open  air  dining-room  is  far  more 
desirable.  In  some  parts  of  the  country  tents  are 
not  altogether  essential  as  there  is  plenty  of  bark 
with  which  a  lean-to  can  be  quickly  made ;  it  is 
safer,  however,  to  have  a  tent.  If  you  have  long 
portages  to  make,  then,  and  only  then,  is  it  advis- 
able to  trust  altogether  to  the  spruce  or  birch  bark. 
The  question  of  waders  is  important.  That  is  to 
say,  if  you  use  them  they  must  be  strong  enough 
to  stand  the  hardest  possible  wear.  In  some  of  the 
rivers  the  rocks  are  all  placed  on  edge,  and  the 
stoutest  hobnailed  boots  will  last  but  a  short  time. 


254     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

It  is  quite  a  question  whether  waders  are  worth  all 
the  bother  they  cause,  for  your  feet  get  wet  in 
any  event,  even  though  it  is  from  the  condensation 
caused  by  the  warmth  of  the  feet  against  the  cold 
water.  Many  people  prefer  to  use  an  ordinary 
heavy  hobnail  boot  large  enough  to  allow  of  several 
pairs  of  coarse,  thick,  warm  stockings,  these,  with 
two  or  three  pairs  of  woollen  drawers  make  a  very 
comfortable  arrangement  and  are  far  less  expen- 
sive than  regular  waders.  I  suggest  several  pairs 
of  fairly  thin  drawers,  as  they  are  more  readily  dried 
than  one  very  thick  pair. 


ALONE  UP  MT.  KATAHDIN 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ALONE    UP   MT.    KATAHDIN 

A  CLEAR  frosty  morning  when  all  vegetation 
was  covered  with  a  silvery  sparkling  jacket.  The 
chicadees  hunted  busily  among  the  frosted  leaves 
for  their  early  breakfast,  and  the  tapping  of  the 
woodpeckers  sounded  loudly  in  the  bright  crisp 
air ;  few  other  birds  there  were,  and  all  nature 
seemed  hushed.  In  the  far  distance  Mt.  Katahdin 
stood  out  sharp  and  well  defined  against  the  early 
morning  sky,  keeping  her  constant  guard  over  the 
lower  lands  and  the  hills,  so  much  smaller  and  less 
majestic  than  herself. 

Morcross  was  astir  betimes  this  Sunday  morning, 
for  a  gang  of  lumbermen  were  about  to  leave 
by  the  little  steamer,  that  would  take  them  to 
the  head  of  Lake  Pummadumcook  ;  thence  they 
would  start  for  their  winter  quarters  in  the  more 
remote  forests,  there  to  continue  the  work  of 
felling  the  majestic  forest  trees.  The  woodman's 
axe  spares  no  timber  that  can  be  turned  to  money, 
and  all  trees  that  are  of  sufficient  size  must  fall. 
Go  where  you  will,  the  huge  stumps,  those  silent 
monuments  of  man's  devastating  hand,  stand  up, 
decayed  and  fungus-covered,  to  show  where  once 
the  tree  had  reared  its  head  of  murmuring  pine 
needles  or  wind-blown  leaves. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock ;  the  steamer,  towing  its 
W.L.C.  s 


258     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

scows  laden  with  winter  provender,  had  left.  I 
found  a  suitable  canoe,  in  which  I  placed  my 
belongings,  and  bidding  a  short  farewell  to  trains 
and  their  like,  I  started  off  alone  for  my  goal — 
Mt.  Katahdin — translated  from  the  Indian  to  mean 
the  Highest  Land. 

No  breath  of  wind  stirred  the  surface  of  Lake 
Pummadumcook,  and  it  was  difficult  to  distinguish 
the  reflections  from  the  real  objects.  The  shores 
are  rocky  and  covered  in  most  parts  by  fallen  timber, 
whose  bleached  bones  shine  silvery  white  against  the 
dark  background  of  evergreens.  How  deathly  quiet 
it  was  !  Occasionally  a  loon  would  utter  its  piteous 
cry,  but  that  only  made  the  stillness  the  more 
intense,  and  the  constant  rhythmical  dip  of  the 
paddle  could  scarce  be  heard  as  it  sent  the  graceful 
canoe  gliding  over  the  polished  surface  of  the 
water. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  when,  after  some  difficulty 
in  finding  the  way,  I  reached  Lake  Ambajeejus,  or, 
as  it  is  also  written,  Ambejijis.  From  there  Katah- 
din presented  a  magnificent  picture.  Its  full  height 
was  seen  to  advantage  as  the  low-lying  foreground 
gave  an  uninterrupted  view,  which  was  reproduced 
in  all  its  detail  on  the  lake's  surface.  About  a 
mile  and  a  half  of  paddling  brought  me  to 
Ambajeejus  Falls,  where  there  was  a  carry  of  nearly 
half  a  mile,  as  the  water  was  very  low.  For  a 
moderate  sum,  a  guide,  who  keeps  a  horse  for  the 
purpose,  hauled  my  things  across  the  carry,  and  by 
little  after  noon  I  was  on  the  dead  waters  of  the 
west  branch  of  the  Penobscot  river.  Excepting  at 
the  falls  it  resembles  a  lake  more  than  a  river,  and 


ALONE    UP   MT.    KATAHDIN       259 

I  believe  it  was  formerly  known  as  Passamagamet 
Lake. 

This  lake  is  rather  less  than  two  miles  in  length 
and  is  studded  with  thickly-wooded  islands.  On 
one  of  these  I  landed,  and,  selecting  a  suitable  place, 
decided  to  camp  for  the  night.  A  crackling  fire 
drove  away  to  some  extent  the  spirit  of  loneliness. 
But  it  was  a  great  change  from  the  surroundings 
of  but  twenty-four  hours  before — the  Fall  River 
steamer  with  its  gorgeous  display  of  electric  lights, 
its  music  and  its  restless  crowd.  Here  there  was 
no  noise  save  the  gentle  moaning  of  the  pines 
and  the  distant  murmuring  of  the  rapids.  Even  to 
use  an  axe  seemed  an  unnecessary  act  of  violence, 
so  the  fire  was  fed  with  driftwood  picked  up  along 
the  shores. 

As  I  lay  on  my  bed  of  fir  balsam  and  smoked 
my  pipe  after  a  hearty  dinner,  I  almost  wished 
that  some  companion  were  there  to  share  the 
solitude.  It  was  lonely,  and  before  long  I  decided 
to  seek  my  "  pillow,"  though  it  was  but  seven 
o'clock.  A  night  of  refreshing  sleep,  sleep  such  as 
is  known  only  to  those  who  sleep  in  the  open  air, 
put  me  in  a  good  state  of  mind  and  body,  and  after 
a  dip  in  the  cooling  waters  of  the  river  and  a  good 
if  not  remarkably  well  cooked  breakfast,  I  packed 
up  and  made  another  start.  On  my  way  up  the 
river  I  noticed  a  likely-looking  place  for  deer,  and, 
realising  that  a  nice  fat  yearling  would  give  me  a 
good  supply  of  meat,  I  turned  the  canoe  into  a 
creek  that  wound  its  way  through  a  large  tract 
of  meadow-like  country.  After  walking  a  short 
distance  through  the  grassy  swamp  I  espied  a  deer 

s  2 


260     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

feeding,  about  two  hundred  yards  away.  The  wind 
being  in  my  favour,  I  stalked  my  game,  and  a  shot 
from  my  Winchester  gave  me  an  ample  supply  of 
meat. 

The  weather  by  this  time  had  grown  threatening  ; 
Katahdin  was  entirely  hidden  from  view  by  the 
heavy  rain-foreboding  clouds,  so  I  decided  to  camp 
and  make  ready  for  a  wet  night — one  of  the  most 
unpleasant  of  things  when  one  has  but  a  small 
sleeping  tent  only  three  feet  in  height.  No  sooner 
had  1  landed  my  effects  than  the  rain  began.  The 
tent  was  pitched,  a  bed  of  balsam  hastily  made, 
and  by  this  time  the  rain  was  coming  down  in 
torrents.  A  fire  had  to  be  started,  which  under 
these  conditions  was  not  an  easy  task,  but  thanks 
to  that  ever  useful  article,  birch  bark,  which  burns 
readily,  no  matter  how  wet  it  may  be,  I  was  able 
to  make  a  cheerful  fire  and  cook  some  chops  from 
that  yearling  deer. 

The  next  few  days  were  spent  in  exploring  the 
surrounding  country  and  in  making  photographs 
of  the  various  kinds  of  woodland.  One  part  struck 
me  as  being  extremely  fine  and  unusual.  The 
ground  was  a  mass  of  huge  boulders  piled  up  one 
against  the  other  ;  these  were  entirely  covered  with 
a  thick  coating  of  moss,  which  in  some  places  was 
rich  green,  and  in  others  almost  white,  as  though 
with  age.  Beneath  this  velvety  carpet  the  water 
could  be  heard,  many  feet  below  the  surface, 
seeking  a  path  between  the  rocks.  In  one  place  I 
managed  to  obtain  some  to  drink,  but  though  icy- 
cold  it  was  strongly  impregnated  with  the  taste  of 
the  cedar,  and  therefore  not  palatable.  The  cedars 


In  the  dense  Woods  below  Katahdin. 


ALONE   UP   MT.    KATAHDIN       261 

and  some  other  trees  grow  on  these  boulders,  send- 
ing their  roots  among  the  moss,  from  which  they 
probably  draw  the  necessary  nourishment.  Here 
and  there  a  tree  falls  and  its  roots  strip  the  moss 
entirely  from  the  rock,  leaving  the  smooth  granite 
bare  and  like  a  dazzling  white  jewel  with  its  setting 
of  rich  dark  green.  The  numerous  tracks  prove 
that  this  is  a  favourite  resort  for  deer,  but  the 
difficulty  of  walking  makes  it  anything  but  a 
desirable  place  for  still-hunting. 

Throughout  this  region  ponds  and  small  lakes 
may  be  found  nestling  snugly  among  the  low- 
lying  hills.  These  ponds  are  usually  bordered  by 
a  strip  of  boggy  moss,  and  here  we  find  the  pitcher 
plant,  whose  dark  red  vases  hold  their  supply  of 
water.  What  stories  a  fanciful  child  might  weave 
of  fairies  drinking  from  these  dainty  vessels  provided 
by  nature  !  On  the  surface  of  the  ponds  lily- pads 
float  idly,  while  the  ducks  dive  and  play  among  the 
long  slimy  stalks.  Such  a  place  affords  the  best 
shooting,  both  deer  and  moose  frequenting  the 
vicinity  of  ponds,  especially  those  that  contain  pond 
lilies. 

Throughout  the  woodland  there  is  a  perfect 
labyrinth  of  more  or  less  defined  logging  roads  ; 
some  of  these  lead  to  old  deserted  camps,  others  to 
the  slides  where  the  timber  is  launched,  and  many 
lead,  apparently,  nowhere  but  to  some  old  decayed 
stump,  the  relic  of  a  tine  tree  sacrificed  to  the  cold 
steel  of  the  woodman's  axe.  These  roads,  which 
are  little  more  than  rough  timber-strewn  paths,  are 
most  confusing,  and  where  one  tramps  alone  through 
the  woods,  the  greatest  care  is  necessary  to  observe 


262     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

in  what  direction  they  lead.  Along  these  paths, 
where  the  scarlet  partridge  berry  adds  its  mite  of 
brilliant  colour  to  the  rich  though  sombre  shades 
of  the  forest  growth,  the  snowbird  hops  along, 
uttering  his  tiny  twit-twit,  as  he  searches  for  food. 
They  are  the  haunts,  too,  of  the  red  squirrel — that 
ever  busy,  chattering,  inquisitive  little  rascal  who 
thinks  the  woods  belong  to  him  and  him  alone. 
He  resents  all  intrusion  and  must  needs  examine 
carefully  all  intruders  and  loudly  tell  his  neigh- 
bours just  what  he  thinks  of  them.  Here  also 
may  be  found  the  ruffed  grouse  or  patridge  as  he 
is  named  here,  a  tame  bird  which  offers  no  sport, 
but  is  shot  because  in  the  way  of  food  he  is  the 
greatest  luxury  supplied  by  the  Maine  woods. 

On  returning  from  one  of  my  photographing 
trips  I  had  unfortunately  left  my  camera  in  the 
canoe  while  I  went  to  prepare  some  lunch  ;  imagine 
my  feelings,  when,  as  I  lay  on  the  ground  watching 
those  impertinent  thieves,  the  Canada  jays — known 
here  as  moosebirds  or  whisky  Jacks — stealing  the 
scraps  of  meat  from  my  deer,  I  was  surprised  by  a 
strange  visitor.  She  came  crashing  through  the 
underbrush,  halting  only  when  she  saw  the  column 
of  pale  blue  smoke  that  rose  from  my  fire.  Her 
curiosity  was  aroused,  and  not  seeing  me,  as  I  lay 
motionless,  she  came  nearer,  within  thirty  or  forty 
feet.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been  so  close 
to  a  cow  moose.  What  a  size  she  looked  as  she 
stood  there  snorting  and  trying  in  vain,  for  there 
was  no  wind,  to  scent  the  arch  enemy  to  her  kind. 
After  a  few  moments  she  trotted  off  down  the 
bank  and  past  my  canoe  and  camera.  I  ran  and, 


ALONE    UP  MT.   KATAHDIN       263 

snatching  the  camera,  tried  to  draw  the  dark  slide 
from  the  plate-holder,  but  by  that  time  my  visitor 
had  forded  the  narrow  neck  of  water  and  dis- 
appeared among  the  trees  on  the  opposite  bank. 
My  opportunity  had  vanished,  and  as  I  stood  there 
I  wondered  why  I  had  not  taken  the  camera  with 
me.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  neglected  to  do  so, 
and  it  was  also  the  last,  but  no  other  moose  ever 
visited  my  camp. 

The  next  day  I  moved  camp  to  Passamagamet 
carry,  where  I  determined  to  learn  the  rudiments 
of  poling  a  canoe  through  the  rapids.  I  had  been 
informed  that  there  would  be  many  rapids  to  pass 
before  Katahdin  brook  could  be  reached,  so  landing 
all  my  effects,  including  my  watch,  and  ballasting 
the  canoe  with  stones,  I  started,  after  having  care- 
fully watched  a  guide  who  kindly  gave  me  sugges- 
tions and  went  through  a  part  of  the  rapids  in  order 
to  show  me  how  it  was  done. 

Never  shall  I  forget  those  first  few  moments  of 
torture ;  the  rocks  loomed  up  larger  and  larger  arid 
ever  increasing  in  numbers,  while  the  water  boiled 
and  raced  by  as  though  eager  to  leave  such 
unpleasant  neighbours.  "  Gnashing  rocks,  with 
cruel  foam  upon  their  lips,  sprang  out  of  the 
obscure,  eager  to  tear  us.  Great  jaws  of  ugly 
blackness  snapped  about  us  as  if  we  were  intro- 
duced into  a  coterie  of  crocodiles,"  wrote  Winthrop 
on  his  first  experience  of  rapids.  He  was  with 
guides,  and  I  doubt  not  had  he  been  alone  his 
description  might  even  have  been  stronger.  As 
an  eddying  current  caught  the  bow  of  the  canoe, 
it  would  spin  round,  in  danger  of  being  dashed  to 
pieces  if  the  pole  were  not  quickly  dropped  between 


264    WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

the  frail  craft  and  destruction.  After  many  futile 
efforts  the  bow  would  be  brought  to  point  towards 
the  turbulent  channel,  guarded  on  either  side  by 
monstrous  stones,  which,  like  watching  devils,  lay 
there  ready  to  grind  to  atoms  the  boat  that  for  an 
instant  left  the  narrow  path  and  came  within  their 
reach.  A  vigorous  push,  and  the  light  craft  shot 
over  the  'racing  waters,  passed  the  rocks  and  for  a 
moment  wavered  as  though  she  would  drop  back 
again  and  face  the  stony  demons  ;  another  push  and 
we  were  out  of  reach  of  the  eddy,  and  there  was 
time  to  breathe  and  rest  before  attempting  the  next 
falls.  These  were  passed  after  what  seemed  an 
interminable  time,  and  then  came  the  return. 
Running  down  stream  requires  almost  more  nerve, 
though  less  exertion,  than  going  against  the  current. 
When  fairly  in  the  race  you  sweep  past  rocks  at  an 
awful  speed.  I  had  visions  of  an  unwished-for 
bath  and  a  canoe  to  be  paid  for,  as  the  water  carried 
me  along  utterly  regardless  of  my  feelings  in  the 
matter.  A  quick  shove  here  and  there  against  a 
passing  stone  would  turn  the  canoe  to  where  a 
suitable  opening  appeared.  Occasionally  we  grazed 
a  partly  submerged  rock  whose  paint-marked 
surface  told  of  some  canoe  that  had  come  in 
contact  with  it.  Such  beacons  mark  the  channel 
through  most  of  the  rapids  and  shallow  places. 
We  were  nearing  the  last  falls,  and  I  was  "  holding 
back  "  with  all  my  strength  when  my  pole  caught 
between  the  rocks ;  my  heart  sank  within  me,  as  1 
realised  that  unless  I  recovered  the  pole  I  must 
inevitably  be  dashed  to  pieces ;  so,  leaning  over,  even 
at  the  risk  of  upsetting  the  canoe,  I  jerked  the  pole 


ALONE   UP  MT.   KATAHDIN      265 

frantically,  and  to  my  relief  I  felt  it  break  loose 
from  the  stony  clasp  of  the  sunken  rocks.  I  passed 
the  falls  without  mishap,  and  gliding  into  the 
placid  dead-waters  of  Passamagamet  I  rested  from 
my  labours,  utterly  exhausted  by  my  first  attempt 
at  the  rapids. 

The  next  day  at  9  o'clock  I  left  Passamagamet, 
carrying  my  canoe  and  things  across  the  quarter- 
mile  carry  ;  the  road  was  rough  and  rocky,  and  this, 
my  first  experience  of  canoe-carrying,  strongly 
prejudiced  me  against  such  arduous  labour.  The 
wind  was  ahead,  so  that  paddling  to  the  next  rapids, 
which  bear  the  name  of  Katepskonegan  (commonly 
pronounced  Debsconeag),  meaning  in  Indian 
language  "carry  place,"  was  slow  work,  and  it 
was  afternoon  when  I  commenced  taking  my  load 
over  the  carry  of  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile. 
Another  three  miles  by  water  and  I  reached  the 
much  dreaded  Pockwockomus  carry,  which  is  a 
mile  and  a  half  long,  and  the  roughest  of  rough 
roads,  covered  with  rocks  and  fallen  timber.  My 
canoe,  photographic  material,  tent,  food,  &c.,  made 
three  good  loads  of  about  ninety  pounds  each,  so 
that  this  carry  meant  a  nine-miles'  walking.  By 
the  time  I  had  made  two  trips  I  was  so  utterly 
exhausted  that  no  power  on  earth  could  have  made 
me  carry  that  dreaded  canoe.  As  it  was  growing 
late  I  concluded  that  I  had  better  make  ready  my 
camp  for  the  night. 

When  morning  came  my  courage  came  with  it, 
and  I  carried  that  canoe  over  that  mile  and  a  half. 
Again  the  wind  was  ahead,  as  also  was  the  current, 
which  ran  swiftly.  There  were  rapids  to  run  and 


266     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

another  carry  known  as  Abols — probably  the  short 
for  Aboljacknagesic — and  at  last  I  found  myself  at 
the  mouth  of  Katahdin  brook,  my  point  of  departure 
for  the  great  mountain  that  looked  down  frowning 
on  me  with  its  summit  enveloped  in  clouds.  I  had 
reached  the  end  of  my  river  journey,  and  as  it  was 
but  noon  I  decided  to  start  that  afternoon  on  my 
uphill  march  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Leaving 
the  canoe  on  the  beach  and  placing  most  of  my 
belongings  inside  the  tent,  I  started  off  with  a 
pack  containing  what  things  were  necessary,  such 
as  food,  sleeping  bag,  clothes  and  photographic 
outfit,  perhaps  sixty-five  pounds  in  all. 

The  trail,  which  was  newly  blazed,  showing  that 
someone  had  recently  been  there,  led  for  a  time 
along  Katahdin  brook,  then,  branching  off,  it  went 
up  and  down  the  thickly-wooded  hills  and  swamps. 
In  most  parts  the  trail  was  quite  distinct  and 
therefore  easy  to  follow,  but  the  walking  was 
difficult,  and  before  the  first  two  miles  had  been 
accomplished  I  discovered  that  my  pack  must  be 
lightened  if  I  wished  to  reach  the  end  of  my 
eight-mile  walk  that  night ;  so,  taking  the  heavy 
waterproof  canvas  cover  from  my  sleeping  bag,  I 
put  in  it  most  of  my  ammunition  and  what  clothes 
I  could  spare  ;  these  I  cached  beneath  a  large  and 
prominent  rock  and  recommenced  my  journey 
with  the  somewhat  lightened  pack.  After  walking 
another  mile  or  so  I  came  to  an  old,  deserted 
lumber  camp  composed  of  four  large  log  houses 
in  various  states  of  dilapidation.  Two  grouse  were 
sunning  themselves  in  the  road,  and  a  red  squirrel 
sat  on  a  tree-stump  and  harshly  asked  why  1 


ALONE   UP  MT.   KATAHDIN      267 

should  come  here,  to  this  out-of-the-way  place  to 
disturb  him  as  he  was  gathering  material  for  his 
winter  nest.  After  some  difficulty  I  found  the 
continuation  of  the  blazed  trail,  which  led  through 
the  leaf-strewn  roads ;  on  the  way  two  deer,  both 
does,  bounded  away  and  were  soon  lost  to  view — 
how  easily  they  make  their  way  among  the  fallen 
timber,  going  so  slowly,  yet  disappearing  in  an 
incredibly  short  time ! 

At  four  o'clock  I  crossed  one  of  the  beautiful 
mountain  streams,  and  here  my  troubles  began. 
Following,  as  before,  the  new  blazings,  which  were 
few  and  far  between,  I  had,  without  knowing  it, 
left  the  Katahdin  trail.  It  was  getting  dark,  and 
I  realised  that  I  had  lost  my  way ;  neither  old  nor 
new  blazings  could  I  find,  and  the  woods  were  wet 
and  spongy.  Darkness  had  come  upon  me,  and  I 
must  camp  for  the  night.  The  prospect  was  not 
bright,  and  to  make  matters  worse  there  was  every 
indication  of  rain.  Most  of  the  wood  was  rotten 
and  wet,  so  I  had  difficulty  in  making  the  fire,  by 
whose  light  I  built  a  rude  shelter  of  birch  bark, 
covering  the  soggy  ground  with  the  same  material. 
While  eating  my  supper  a  deer  came  walking 
quietly  along,  stopping  for  a  moment  when  but  a 
few  feet  from  where  I  sat ;  its  eyes  shone  like 
glowing  coals,  and  as  I  moved  forward  to  try  and 
make  out  whether  it  was  a  buck  or  a  doe,  it  got 
wind  of  me  and  scampered  off  into  the  darkness. 

The  night  was  cold,  and  by  ten  o'clock  I  was 
awakened  by  the  pattering  of  the  rain  on  the  birch 
bark.  Drops  of  water  soon  found  their  way 
through  the  roughly-made  roof,  and  morning  found 


268     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

me  cold,  wet,  and  thoroughly  uncomfortable. 
After  an  hour's  search  I  came  across  the  blazings, 
and,  following  these  for  several  miles,  found  they 
led  to  a  new  camp  belonging  to  one  Joe  Francis, 
an  Indian  guide.  There  was  no  one  there,  and, 
seeing  a  slide  on  the  face  of  the  mountain,  I 
thought  it  must  be  the  one  I  was  searching  for,  so 
I  continued  towards  it  though  there  was  no  trail. 
The  woods  were  almost  impassable,  with  fallen 
timber  and  a  tangle  of  undergrowth,  so,  in  despair, 
I  turned  back,  determined  to  wait  at  the  camp 
until  someone  returned.  With  difficulty  I  found 
the  camp,  and  at  three  o'clock  Joe  Francis  arrived 
with  another  guide  who  was  carrying  a  load  of 
moose  meat.  Joe  informed  me  that  I  was  about 
three  miles  out  of  the  way,  and  that  if  1  went  due 
west  I  should  find  the  object  of  my  search.  I 
followed  his  directions  and  arrived  at  the  slide 
shortly  before  sunset,  where  I  found  a  birch  bark 
shack,  of  which  I  took  possession.  Leaving  my 
things  there,  I  went  out  to  try  to  find  some  game, 
while  there  was  yet  daylight.  Before  walking 
more  than  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  I  got  two 
grouse ;  these  were  quickly  cooked,  one  for  supper 
and  the  other  for  next  day's  lunch. 

With  a  blazing,  crackling  fire  in  front  of  the 
shack  to  temper  the  cold,  keen  air,  I  went  to  sleep, 
happy  in  the  thought  that  to-morrow  would  be  fine, 
judging  from  the  present  indications,  and  I  should 
climb  the  great  pile  of  granite  whose  summit 
seemed  to  lose  itself  in  the  starry  vault  of  the 
heavens. 

The   morning   broke   cold    and    clear,   but   the 


The  north-east  side  of  the  mountain  is  an  abrupt  precipice  of  solid  rock 
about  4,000  feet  high." 


ALONE   UP   MT.    KATAHDIN       269 

wind  was  blowing  half  a  gale  from  the  north-west. 
The  prospects  were  not  hopeful  for  photography. 
At  half-past  six  I  started  up  what  proved  to  be  the 
most  tiring  climb  I  have  ever  experienced. 

The  slide,  which  is  the  best  way  up,  on  the  south 
side  of  the  mountain,  is  abroad  strip  of  rocks  and 
gravel.  Most  of  the  rocks  are  loosely  piled  up, 
with  channels  of  gravel  between,  and  here  and 
there  a  scrubby  bush,  whose  branches  are  extremely 
tough,  strives  for  existence  in  such  unpromising 
surroundings.  The  walking  is  most  difficult,  and  it 
was  only  with  the  aid  of  a  stout  staff  that  I  was 
able  to  force  my  way  upwards.  In  parts  the 
rocks  were  of  great  size,  and  the  utmost  care  was 
necessary  to  avoid  slipping  between  them.  At  a 
quarter  past  eight  I  crawled  through  an  opening 
between  two  gigantic  rocks  and  found  myself  on 
the  table-land  on  the  summit  of  Mt.  Katahdin. 
This  was  not  the  highest  point,  that  was  about 
two  miles  further  to  the  east.  There  it  is  5,385  feet 
above  sea  level. 

The  wind  was  blowing  with  such  force  that  I 
did  not  attempt  to  cross  the  narrow  strip  that  leads 
to  the  highest  peak,  but  contented  myself  with 
admiring  the  superb  view.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  there  were  rivers  and  lakes,  large  and  small, 
shining  like  silver  flakes  through  the  thin  purple 
mist;  much  to  my  disappointment  the  distance 
was  entirely  hidden  from  view,  so  that  I  was 
unable  to  get  any  photographs  but  those  of  the 
nearer  objects.  The  north-east  side  of  the 
mountain  is  an  abrupt  precipice  of  solid  rock 
about  4,000  feet  high.  Over  the  lower  lands  the 


270     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

clouds  drifted  lazily,  for  there  it  was  evidently 
nearly  calm.  By  the  time  I  had  taken  a  few 
photographs  the  clouds  began  to  gather,  hiding 
the  topmost  peak  and  warning  me  to  make  for 
the  slide  before  that,  too,  was  hidden ;  so,  placing 
my  camera  into  the  pack  basket,  I  made  for  the 
two  stone  columns  or  monuments  that  mark  the 
top  of  the  slide.  The  wind,  which  was  increasing 
in  force,  was  bitterly  cold,  and  I  was  glad  to  reach 
the  shelter  of  the  rocks  on  the  slide.  Three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  of  jumping,  slipping,  tumbling 
and  running  brought  me  to  the  birch-bark  shack, 
where  I  had  left  my  things ;  these  I  soon  packed 
up,  and  after  a  lunch  of  cold  grouse,  washed  down 
with  the  most  delicious  ice-cold  water  from  a 
mountain  stream,  I  started  back  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Katahdin  brook,  well  satisfied  at  having 
reached  a  goal  so  magnificent,  one  well  worth  all 
the  labour  it  had  cost. 

As  I  entered  the  woods  near  the  bottom  of  the 
slide,  the  squirrels  and  birds  became  more  plentiful. 
I  had  noticed  chicadees  and  robins  not  far  below 
the  timber  line,  and  on  the  table-land  there  were 
two  sparrows.  They  were,  however,  so  wild  that 
I  was  unable  to  get  near  enough  to  identify  them. 
I  could  not  help  wondering  why  they  should 
choose  a  spot  so  bleak  and  unprotected.  Footsore 
and  weary,  I  arrived  at  my  camp  on  the  river  side 
by  four  o'clock.  Looking  back  at  the  mountain 
on  which  I  had  stood  but  a  few  hours  since,  I  saw 
that  it  was  heavily  draped  with  clouds,  and  I  was 
glad  that  they  had  kept  away  while  I  was  there. 

The  next  day  it  was  raining  hard,  so  I  rested 


ALONE   UP  MT.    KATAHDIN       271 

and  started  off  on  my  down-stream  journey  early 
the  following  morning,  after  taking  a  photograph 
of  the  mountain  as  it  unveiled  itself  to  greet  the 
rising  sun.  The  wind  blew  strongly  in  my  favour, 
and  in  twenty-six  hours  I  arrived  at  Morcross,  the 
head  of  Pummadumcook  Lake,  and  there  bade 
farewell  to  the  land  of  the  balsam  fir. 


THE  HEART  OF  WINTER 


W.L.C. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    HEART    OF   WINTER* 

THE  sky  is  darkening  over  while  the  morning  is 
still  young,  no  wind  stirs  the  leafless  twigs  of  the 
trees,  an  awful  silence  prevails,  no  break  is  there  in 
the  cloud  which  has  completely  overshadowed  the 
sky.  It  is  all  a  cold,  dull,  uniform  grey.  A  few 
large  fluff-like  flakes  of  snow  float  dreamily 
downward  and  settle  gently  on  the  frozen  earth,  or 
catch  on  the  bared  branches.  As  silent  members 
of  the  advance  guard  of  winter  they  tell  the  world, 
in  the  language  of  signs,  that  Autumn  has  gone, 
and  for  three  moons  the  land  will  be  held  in  the 
cold  grasp  of  snow  and  ice.  Some  say  this  is  a 
period  of  death,  but  pardon  them,  for  they  do  not 
know  the  winter  moods.  They  think,  because  no 
flowers  bloom  and  the  birds  are  unusually  silent, 
that  there  is  no  life.  Why  not  say  that  the  world 
of  plant  life  is  sleeping,  wrapped  in  its  spotless 
white  sheet,  sleeping  and  gathering  renewed 
strength  for  the  great  battle  of  life  that  comes  with 
the  warmth  of  April  sun  ?  Away  from  the  cities, 
where  the  snow  is  contaminated  and  disfigured  by 
man's  appliances,  the  winter  has  glories  greater  even 
than  those  of  the  summer,  whether  they  are  revealed 
in  the  blizzard  which  keeps  men  in  their  homes 
and  spreads  desolation  among  all  that  are  not  well 

*  First  published  in  The  Churchman. 

T  2 


276     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

housed,  or  in  the  quiet  of  the  blue-skied  day  when 
the  snow  sparkles  in  the  sunshine.  The  be  auty  is 
equally  wonderful,  and  the  extraordinary  contrast 
forms  perhaps  its  greatest  fascination.  To  those 
who  fear  not  the  cold  and  the  wind  there  is  nothing 
more  exhilarating  than  a  walk  through  the  woods 
and  fields  when  the  wind  howls,  and  the  snow 
travels  with  reckless  speed,  flying  past  trees  and 
fences  as  though  impelled  with  a  mad  desire  to 
outdistance  the  pursuing  gale.  Snow  imps  dance 
a  wild  uncanny  dance,  hesitating  a  moment  in 
some  sheltered  spot,  then  racing  furiously  across 
the  open  fields,  whirling  round  and  round  in  their 
wild  endeavour  to  gather  more  snow.  At  each  lull 
in  the  wind  they  lie  down,  invisible  to  the  eye, 
leaving  no  track  or  trail,  and  we  know  not  where 
they  are  until  with  the  fresh  blast  of  wind  they 
rise  up  once  more  and  continue  their  furious  scamper. 
In  the  woods  all  seems  dead ;  except  in  some 
sheltered  nook  no  birds  are  seen.  The  grey 
squirrel  has  commenced  his  long  winter  sleep  in 
the  hollow  of  a  tree.  Chipmunks,  too,  are  dead  to 
the  world  in  their  underground  homes,  even  the 
busy  red  squirrel  has  taken  a  day  off  and  is  snoozing 
comfortably  in  his  nest.  The  wind  whistles 
uneasily  through  the  swaying  branches,  and  the 
brown  curled-up  leaves  of  the  oak  rustle  loudly. 
Now  and  then  one  of  the  leaves  lets  go  its  hold, 
and  dances  along  on  the  smooth  white  ground  with 
no  companions  but  the  wind  and  the  falling  snow. 
On  such  a  day  we  see  no  tracks,  for  even  did  the 
wood  folks  move  about,  their  tracks  would  be 
wiped  out  almost  as  soon  as  they  were  made.  The 


The  Winter  Woods. 


THE   HEART   OF   WINTER         277 

cottontail  is  hiding  in  some  thick  snow-covered 
scrub,  or  perhaps  in  a  hole  beneath  an  uprooted 
tree.  Even  the  blood-thirsty  mink  cares  not  to 
venture  forth  unless  sorely  pressed  by  hunger. 
The  ruffed  grouse  seeks  the  protection  of  a  friendly 
hemlock  tree,  or  sits  snug  under  a  thick  patch  of 
laurel.  In  the  swamp  thicket  the  quails,  huddled 
close  together  for  mutual  protection,  are  trying  to 
brave  the  storm,  hoping  no  crust  will  form  to  keep 
them  prisoners  and  let  them  starve  slowly  and 
miserably.  With  evening,  the  wind,  tired  out  by 
its  long  day's  work,  quiets  down  and  the  snow  no 
longer  falls.  Gradually  the  clouds  disappear,  and  in 
their  place  we  see  the  clear  dark  blue  of  the  evening 
sky,  dotted  over  with  cold  white  stars.  Then  comes 
the  quiet  of  the  winter  night,  broken  only,  so  far 
as  we  know,  by  the  occasional  hooting  or  crying 
of  an  owl,  or  the  distant  barking  of  a  fox.  But, 
though  quiet,  the  woods  are  no  longer  dead,  for  it 
is  during  these  still  nights,  unseen  by  man,  that 
the  tragedies  of  the  woods  occur.  The  morning 
dawns  clear,  cold  and  wonderfully  still,  a  glorious 
morning  for  a  tramp.  If  the  ground  is  covered  to 
a  sufficient  depth  we  tie  on  our  snow-shoes,  and 
enjoy  the  crunching  sound,  as  we  tread  down  the 
soft,  dry  snow.  All  the  land  is  smiling,  as  though 
rejoicing  that  the  storm  has  passed.  The  jewel- 
like  snow-crystals  sparkle  and  dance  in  the  cold 
white  sunlight  as  the  sun  rises  higher  in  tha 
heavens,  the  colour  of  the  sky  increases  until  it 
becomes  of  a  deep  and  rich  blue,  and  no  cloud 
breaks  the  great  expanse.  In  the  distance  the 
mountains  loom  up  with  wonderful  clearness.  The 


278     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

trees  on  its  slopes  are  sharply  defined  against  the 
dazzling  white  of  the  snow,  and  like  a  fringe  of 
infinite  fineness  the  topmost  trees  edge  the  skyline. 
Here  and  there  a  hemlock  or  pine  stands  out 
clearly  from  its  leafless  brothers,  as  though  in 
defiance  of  the  autumn  laws  which  denude  the 
forests  of  their  covering.  Through  the  valley  a 
river  crawls  along  silently  toward  its  destination. 
Against  the  white  banks  it  seems  almost  black 
where  the  ice  has  not  yet  hidden  its  surface  from 
our  view.  On  either  side  alders  and  willows  grow 
with  roots  submerged,  and  each  twig,  trembling  as 
the  water  passes,  is  coated  with  ice,  and  spray-made 
icicles  of  crystalline  purity  shimmer  in  the  sunlight. 
How  different  is  this  river  from  the  one  we  had 
fished  in  during  the  warm  summer  days  !  Where 
are  all  the  leaves  and  flowers  which  clothed  its 
banks  ?  Some  of  the  flowers  have  sown  their 
seeds  for  the  next  year's  crop  and  the  snow  is 
protecting  them  from  the  severe  frosts.  Others, 
less  eager,  are  holding  their  precious  burden  in 
tightly-closed  pods,  waiting  for  the  days  of  snow 
to  pass,  that  they  may  open  their  doors  and  bid  the 
tiny  seeds  go  forth  and  take  root  in  the  warming 
earth.  The  leaves,  too,  are  fulfilling  their  part 
in  the  marvellous  order  of  nature.  Strewn 
about  the  roots  of  bush  and  tree  they  are 
giving  back  to  the  earth  that  which  was  required 
for  their  sustenance  during  the  few  months  of  their 
life.  Of  the  endless  variety  of  grasses  and  seeds 
scarcely  any  are  visible  ;  unable  to  hold  the  burden 
of  snow  they  have  lain  down  to  take  their  long 
winter  sleep.  A  few  sturdy  cat-tails  hold  their 


THE   HEART   OF   WINTER        279 

seed-bearing  heads  far  above  the  snow,  birds 
driven  by  hunger  have  loosened  the  silky  seed,  and 
it  waits  but  for  the  wind  to  carry  it  off  to  other 
marshes,  where  it  will  spring  up  next  year,  to 
the  delight  of  those  who  fortunately  are  never  too 
old  to  enjoy  gathering  the  rich  brown  velvet  cat- 
kins. In  the  woods  all  is  cold  and  silent.  The 
snow,  driven  by  the  gale,  has  left  the  trees  bare 
and  desolate.  It  is  the  very  picture  of  winter 
in  all  its  bleakness.  Were  it  not  for  the  dormant 
buds  of  the  azalea  and  some  few  trees  that 
show  a  promise  of  life,  we  might  easily  believe 
winter  to  be  a  season  of  death.  The  only  relief  to 
the  sombre  greys  of  the  tree  trunks  is  the  green  of 
the  laurel,  the  large  drooping  leaves  of  the  rhodo- 
dendron, and  the  welcome  coniferous  trees.  Such 
is  winter  as  we  usually  see  it. 

We  are  anxious  to  know  what  happened  during 
the  night,  and  so  we  make  our  way  to  the  woods 
to  see  the  stories  of  life  and  death  which  have  been 
recorded  on  the  spotless  ground.  The  first  thing 
we  see  is  the  lace-like  track  of  a  mouse ;  whether 
it  is  a  meadow  or  a  white-footed  mouse  we  do  not 
know.  The  tracks  show  where  the  little  animal 
has  run  along  on  the  surface  for  a  short  distance, 
then  burrowed  into  it.  By  carefully  cutting  away 
the  snow  his  burrow  can  easily  be  followed.  It 
runs  from  root  to  root,  and  shows  distinctly  that 
the  owner  was  in  search  of  food.  During  the 
winter  months  the  mice  are  well  protected.  They 
travel  beneath  the  surface  of  the  snow,  secure  from 
the  eyes  of  their  many  enemies ;  occasionally  one, 
more  foolish  than  his  companions,  stays  too  long  on 


280     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

the  surface  and  pays  for  his  indiscretion  with  his 
life,  for  owls,  hawks,  foxes  and  others  are  always 
on  the  watch  for  them.  Further  on,  when  crossing 
a  small  clearing,  we  see  the  footprints  of  a  red 
squirrel  which  has  travelled  rapidly  from  tree  to 
tree.  Unlike  the  mink  and  the  mice,  who  drag 
their  tails  on  the  snow,  the  squirrel  holds  his  well 
elevated,  and  leaves  no  middle  track,  as  he  runs 
with  feet  well  separated.  But  the  poor  squirrel 
never  reached  his  destination.  His  comfortable 
nest  in  the  hollow  branch  will  never  know  him 
again.  The  sign  "to  let"  will  in  imagination  be 
hung  out  to  the  first  house-hunter  passing  that 
way.  How  do  we  know  all  this  ?  See  the  tracks 
abruptly  end  at  this  point,  see  many  curious,  long 
tracks,  as  though  someone  had  laid  a  queer-shaped 
fan  on  the  snow.  It  is  the  track  of  the  owl's  wing, 
of  the  relentless  hunter,  keen-eyed  and  silent,  who 
watches  all  the  winter  woods  and  fields.  Without 
a  moment's  warning  he  has  pounced  on  the  unsus- 
pecting squirrel  and  carried  it  off  for  his  midnight 
feast.  Soon  we  come  upon  the  curiously  large 
footprints  of  the  cottontail ;  he  too  must  burrow 
beneath  the  snow,  both  for  safety  and  for  food. 
He  takes  no  straight  path,  but  winds  his  way  in 
and  out  among  the  trees,  scratching  a  hole  here 
and  there  where  his  keen  nose  tells  him  he  may 
find  some  root,  twig,  or  leaf  that  is  good  to  eat. 
Sometimes  he  stops  as  though  listening,  and  the 
round  blurred  impression  in  the  snow  shows  where 
his  furry  body  had  pressed  it  down.  The  listen- 
ing had  been  in  vain  for  poor  cottontail,  as  we  see 
later  on.  Not  five  feet  from  the  rabbit's  tracks  are 


Tracks  in  the  snow.  The  deep  footprints  are  those  of  a  squirrel  which 
was  evidently  caught  by  an  owl  or  a  hawk,  whose  wing  tracks  are 
clearlv  shown. 


THE    HEART   OF   WINTER        281 

the  peculiar  footprints  of  a  mink.  He  walks  as  it 
were  with  his  entire  body,  taking  no  steps  such  as 
other  animals  do,  but  bounding  so  that  his  hind 
feet  land  so  near  the  fore  feet  that  it  appears 
almost  like  a  single  footfall.  The  tracks  of  the 
two  animals  converge  until  they  meet,  and  show 
that  the  owners  moved  along  the  same  road. 
The  hunter  and  the  hunted,  the  one  suspicious  but 
ignorant,  the  other  keenly  alert  and  dangerously 
silent.  On  they  go.  So  long  as  the  rabbit  was 
feeding  he  was  alert,  and  the  cautious  mink  kept 
out  of  sight,  knowing  full  well  that  to  frighten  his 
quarry  now  would  be  to  lose  a  meal,  for  the  rabbit 
would  soon  finish  feeding  and  then  make  for  some 
sheltered  spot,  where  he  would  sleep  the  wakeful, 
restless  sleep  of  the  ever-hunted.  Presently  the 
tracks  tell  plainly  that  the  rabbit  has  finished  his 
dinner.  As  they  lead  in  a  roundabout  way  to  the 
tangle  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  the  mink,  with  horrible 
cunning,  knows  what  to  expect,  for  he  leaves  the 
bunny  tracks  and  goes  by  a  different  way  to  the 
hemlock.  We  follow  first  in  the  footprints  of  the 
hunted  ;  they  lead  over  a  prostrate  snow-covered 
log,  then,  after  much  stopping  and  turning,  as 
though  hesitating,  to  the  densest  part  of  the  hem- 
lock. We  turn  back  to  see  what  has  become  of 
the  mink  ;  his  tracks  lead  past  trunk  and  shrub, 
and  show  a  certainty  of  purpose  which  bodes  ill  for 
the  rabbit.  Gradually  they  approach  the  fallen 
hemlock,  and  we  see  that  they,  too,  make  for  the 
dense  cover.  We  fear  the  worst.  A  walk  around 
the  tree  reveals  only  the  small  footprints  of  the 
mink.  Poor  bunny  will  never  again  leave  tracks 


282     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

for  us  to  follow  ;  his  last  track  is  but  a  tiny  red 
stain  on  the  glistening  white  snow  beneath  the 
hemlock  twigs,  and  we  pass  on  in  silence,  wonder- 
ing at  the  ways  of  those  who  live  in  the  woods. 

In  the  winter  we  learn  a  little — a  very  little  of  the 
doings  of  the  animals.  In  the  summer,  when  the 
ground  tells  no  tales,  their  lives  are  a  mystery  to 
us.  For  most  of  them  our  day  is  their  night,  and 
they  only  venture  out  when  a  kindly  darkness 
hides  them  from  inquisitive  eyes.  Throughout 
the  winter  there  are  stories  told  to  us  by  the  snow. 
At  times  it  is  soft  and  tells  us  all  that  has 
happened,  even  the  movements  of  the  winter 
birds.  It  points  out  where  the  ruffed  grouse  has 
eaten  the  scarlet  berries  of  the  bitter-sweet ;  where 
the  goldfinch  has  hung  on  the  dry  sprigs  of 
the  golden  rod  and  eaten  of  its  seeds ;  where  the 
less  agile  junco  has  searched  for  seeds  in  the 
thicket ;  even  where  the  chicadee,  that  cheerful 
little  acrobat  of  the  forest,  has  torn  the  bark  from  a 
dead  birch  tree  and  destroyed  the  nest  of  some 
hibernating  insect,  and  so  perhaps  saved  for  us 
some  favourite  plant  or  shrub  which  this  insect  and 
its  young  would  have  destroyed.  All  this  and  so 
much  more  that  cannot  be  put  into  mere  words 
are  we  told  by  the  snow  when  it  lies  soft  and 
white  on  the  frozen  ground.  But  there  are  days 
when  the  snow  book  is  closed  to  us,  and  the  secrets 
of  the  woods  are  not  betrayed.  These  are  days 
when  a  winter  rain  has  frozen  on  each  twig  and 
bending  blade  of  grass.  Then  we  congratulate 
ourselves  that  we  are  living.  The  whole  country 
is  a  fairy-land  of  glistening  jewels  that  dazzle  our 


In  the  winter,  when  every  twig  is  covered  with  a  glistening  coat  of  ice. 


THE   HEART   OF   WINTER        283 

eyes  as  they  sparkle  in  the  glad  sunshine.  All 
else  is  as  nothing  compared  with  these  crystals. 
Even  the  scarlet  berry  of  the  black  alder,  which 
was  beyond  all  things  brilliant  when  the  first  snow 
covered  the  land,  fails  now  to  arouse  our  interest. 
Its  colour  is  dulled  by  this  new  though  perishable 
beauty.  As  we  walk  through  the  woods  the  frozen 
branches,  shining  wonderfully,  creak  and  groan  with 
their  icy  burden.  A  pair  of  blue  jays  alight  on  an 
oak  tree,  hoping  to  secure  a  meal  of  acorns.  As 
they  pull  and  tear  at  the  frozen  branches,  the  ice 
drops  off  with  a  noisy  clatter  that  may  be  heard  for 
quite  a  distance.  When  a  breeze,  however  faint, 
passes  through  the  woods,  the  sparkle  increases  a 
hundredfold,  and  the  whole  place  resounds  with 
the  noise  of  the  creaking  ice.  The  snow-covered 
ground  is  strewn  with  long  scooped-out  crystals 
which  shine  like  glass.  It  is  wonderful :  it  is  all 
beautiful,  but  it  is  all  the  great  silent  death  spectre, 
and  it  tells  him  who  knows  the  woods  and  fields 
that  it  is  a  deadly  beauty,  which  ends  the  lives  of 
birds  in  countless  numbers,  while  it  tickles  our 
senses,  for  we  are  big  and  strong  and  well  housed. 
Yet  another  phase  of  winter  that  has  beauties  of 
its  own,  greater  and  even  more  fleeting  than  the 
ice  storm,  is  when  the  snow  falls  in  large,  wet 
flakes  and  settles  on  all  things.  Then  each  shrub 
becomes  a  snow  bush  and  its  branches  are  lost  to 
view.  Every  stump  and  stone  is  a  tall,  white 
monument ;  even  on  the  tree  trunks  the  snow 
clings,  as  though  anxious  for  all  the  world  to  be 
white.  Then  is  it  worth  our  while  to  leave  our 
homes  and  at  all  cost  to  visit  a  forest  of  pines 


284     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

or  hemlocks,  for  they  with  their  well-clad  branches 
are  wonderfully  transformed ;  each  branch  is  a 
study  in  itself,  and  the  effect  of  the  whole  forest 
thus  covered  with  snow  is  more  beautiful  than 
anything  offered  by  all  the  glories  of  summer  or 
autumn  foliage.  Strangely  enough  we  do  not 
feel  the  need  of  the  stronger  colouring,  but  are 
satisfied  with  the  delicate  blues,  which  are 
intensified  by  the  almost  gold  colour  of  the  thinly- 
scattered  rays  of  sunlight  that  with  difficulty  find 
their  way  between  the  snow-clad  branches.  And 
yet,  in  all  this  beauty  there  is  a  certain  bareness, 
a  lacking  of  something  indefinable,  and  almost 
against  our  will  we  long  for  the  hopefulness  of 
spring,  when  everything  is  pregnant  with  life. 


MORE    ABOUT    WINTER    AND 

THE  TRACKS  OF  THE 
ANIMALS    IN    THE    SNOW 


CHAPTER  XX 

MORE  ABOUT  WINTER  AND  THE  TRACKS  OF 
THE  ANIMALS  IN  THE  SNOW* 

"  The  ground  is  all  memoranda  and  signatures,  and  every  object 
covered  over  with  hints  which  speak  to  the  intelligent." — EMERSON". 

To  him  who  would  study  the  movements  of 
wild  animals,  especially  those  of  nocturnal  habits, 
the  northern  winter  must  be  a  season  of  constant 
pleasure  and  interest.  For  at  no  time  in  the 
animal's  life  are  his  movements  so  clearly  revealed 
as  when  the  tell-tale  snow  covers  the  land.  Unless 
there  is  a  hard,  smooth  surface-crust  no  creature 
may  venture  forth  without  leaving  tracks  so 
clearly  defined  that  even  man,  with  his  dulness  of 
perception  in  matters  connected  with  wood  lore, 
can  give  a  fairly  satisfactory  account  of  the 
animals'  doings.  The  snow-covered  ground  is,  in 
fact,  an  open  book,  on  the  pages  of  which  are  set 
forth  facts  which  are  absolute  secrets  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  year.  And  yet  how  few  persons 
ever  avail  themselves  of  these  conditions.  Do  we 
not  often  hear  people  who  profess  to  be  nature 
lovers  lament  the,  to  them,  insurmountable  diffi- 
culties that  interfere  with  their  studying  the  lives 
of  the  animals  ?  They  declare  that,  with  all  their 
walking  through  woodland  and  swamp,  they 
seldom,  if  ever,  have  the  good  fortune  to  see  any 

*  First  published  in  Country  Life  in  America. 


288     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

animal  except  red  squirrels,  chipmunks,  and  such 
common  varieties.  The  instinctive  dread  of  man, 
resulting  from  his  constant  persecution,  has  of 
course  led  animals,  especially  the  fur-bearers,  to 
keep  their  tracks  so  well  hidden  that  it  is  only  in 
the  most  remote  parts  of  the  country  we  can  hope 
to  see  mink,  otter,  and  others  possessed  of  valuable 
fur.  Even  in  places  where  the  only  human  habita- 
tion is  the  isolated  trapper's  shanty,  the  sight  of  a 
mink  is  rare,  though  the  little  creatures  themselves 
may  be  fairly  abundant,  while  in  the  vicinity  of 
large  cities  one  may  scarcely  expect  to  see  any- 
thing more  rare  than  squirrels,  rabbits,  woodchucks, 
and  occasionally  musk-rats.  Yet,  strange  as  it  may 
appear,  a  considerable  number  of  mink  and  others, 
as  well  as  coons  and  opossums,  are  caught  every 
winter  within  less  than  twenty -five  miles  of  New 
York.  I  know  of  farmers  who,  living  almost  within 
sight  of  the  city,  add  considerably  to  their  annual 
income  by  trapping.  These  facts  are  given  simply 
to  show  that  even  those  who  are  compelled  to  live 
in,  or  near,  a  big  town  can,  if  they  wish,  find  oppor- 
tunities to  study  the  ways  of  wild  animals  without 
having  to  go  to  the  uninhabited  districts. 

The  very  best  time  to  study  the  ways  of  all  the 
terrestrial  animals  is  when  a  light  fall  of  wet  snow 
has  covered  the  frozen  ground ;  then  each  footmark 
is  clearly  defined.  If  the  snow  is  too  soft  the 
tracks  are  blurred,  and  consequently  difficult  of 
identification;  if  there  is  much  wind  the  snow 
covers  the  tracks,  or  at  least  partly  obliterates 
them,  so  it  is  advisable,  if  you  would  minimise 
your  difficulties,  to  start  as  soon  as  possible  after 


Tracks  in  the  snow  showing  where  a  Musk  Eat  has  come  from  and 
returned  to  the  water. 


TRACKS   IN   THE   SNOW  289 

the  snow  has  fallen.  The  first  tracks  to  learn 
are  those  which  are  most  common.  Do  not  scorn 
familiarity  with  the  tracks  of  the  house  cat,  and  of 
the  different  kinds  of  dogs  ;  a  perfect  knowledge  of 
them  may  save  you  much  mortification.  A  friend 
of  mine  spent  hours  in  following  the  trail  of  what 
he  thought  was  a  fox  ;  he  was  much  disgusted 
to  find  it  led  to  his  neighbour's  back  door. 
Where  a  fox's  and  a  dog's  feet  are  about  the  same 
size  they  are  not  by  any  means  easily  distinguished. 
Some  writers  say  that  the  fox's  track  is  not  nearly 
so  clumsy  as  that  of  a  dog,  but  that  seems  to  be  a 
purely  imaginary  difference  ;  the  only  difference  I 
have  ever  been  able  to  discover  is  that  the  fox's 
footprints  are,  if  anything,  more  nearly  in  alignment. 
As  a  rule  a  fox's  gait  is  a  stealthy  walk  when 
hunting,  or  a  trot  when  pursued.  The  length  of 
the  step  when  walking  is  about  one  foot.  But 
it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  all  animals  vary  in 
their  methods  of  walking  and  running  according 
to  the  condition  of  the  snow :  deep,  soft  snow 
causing  a  jumping  gait,  even  among  animals  which 
habitually  walk  or  trot.  If  you  have  ever  hunted 
a  fox,  and,  as  is  usually  the  case,  lost  him,  even 
with  good  dogs,  let  me  advise  you  to  take  the  first 
opportunity  of  following  the  tracks  (in  the  snow) 
of  a  fox  and  the  pursuing  dogs.  Your  admiration 
for  the  fox  will  certainly  increase,  such  clever 
manoeuvring  as  the  wily  animal  exhibits  will 
astonish  you,  and  no  longer  will  you  feel  ashamed 
of  your  dogs  and  of  yourself  at  being  outwitted. 
During  the  winter  months  foxes  live  principally 
on  rabbits  and  mice,  and  if  you  follow  a  trail 
W.L.C.  u 


290     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

far  enough  you  will  usually  see  that  where  mice 
have  been  dug  out  of  the  snow,  a  ruffed  grouse  or  a 
poor  bunny  has  been  stalked  and  killed  by  his  most 
dreaded  enemy. 

The  most  numerous  tracks  in  woods  and  fields 
in  the   region   of  civilisation  are  those   of  mice, 
shrews,  rabbits,  and  white,  red,  and  grey  squirrels. 
Go  where  you  will  through  woods,  fields  or  swamps 
you  will  always  find  the  tiny  footprints  of  mice. 
They  begin  and  end  at  a  hole  in  the  snow,  show- 
ing where  the  little  creature  has  left  the  kindly 
protection  and  risked  its  life  in  the  open ;  usually 
his  journeyings  on  the  surface  are  very  short,  while 
sometimes  one,  more  courageous  than  wise,  travels 
as  much  as  thirty  or  forty  yards  without  burrowing. 
Under  the  snow  they  live  in  comparative  safety, 
and  when  the  snow  begins   to  melt,   their  runs, 
forming  a  perfect  network,  are  clearly  visible.     The 
mouse  in  its  method  of  progression  over  the  snow 
somewhat  resembles  a  squirrel ;  its  tracks  therefore 
are  much  the  same  in  form  except  that  a  fine  line 
usually  shows  where  the  tail  has  dragged.     Much 
smaller  and  more  delicate  than  the  mouse-tracks 
are  the  lace-like  trails  of  the  shrews,  the  smallest 
of  our  quadrupeds.      One  can   seldom   see   their 
tracks  very  clearly,  as  it  is  only  when  the  snow 
is  in  perfect  condition  that  the  fine  footmarks  are 
at  all  sharply  defined. 

The  track  of  the  "cotton  tail,"  the  common 
hare,  or  rabbit,  as  it  is  usually  called,  is  unmistak- 
able. Owing  to  the  well-furred  foot  the  track  in 
the  snow  is  never  sharp,  but  even  so,  the  large 
prints  of  the  hind  feet,  which  are  placed  in  front  of 


TRACKS   IN   THE   SNOW  291 

the  forefeet,  make  the  tracks  practically  certain  of 
identification.  Most  people  know  that  a  rabbit's 
hind  foot  is  larger  than  its  fore  foot,  yet  it  is  not 
at  all  an  uncommon  thing  to  see  a  man  tracking 
bunny  backwards,  in  other  words,  thinking  that 
the  smaller  fore  foot  tracks  were  in  front  of,  instead 
of  behind,  the  hind  feet.  When  the  snow  is  deep 
the  hare  burrows  beneath  the  surface  in  search  of 
food ;  these  tunnels  are  often  of  considerable 
length. 

A  belief  common  to  many  people  is  that  squirrels 
hibernate,  but  anyone  walking  through  the  woods 
can  disprove  it,  for,  even  though  he  sees  no  squirrels, 
he  will  see  the  tracks  in  abundance.  Chipmunks 
do  hibernate  in  their  underground  homes,  where 
they  have  great  stores  of  food,  but  both  grey  and 
red  squirrels  lead  a  more  or  less  active  life  through- 
out winter.  This  is  made  clear  by  the  fact  that  much 
of  their  food  is  stored  in  the  ground  beneath  leaves 
and  rubbish.  A  certain  very  well  known  writer 
makes  the  statement  that  the  red  squirrel  lays  up 
no  stores  like  the  provident  chipmunk,  but  scours 
about  for  food  in  all  weathers ;  but  this  is  by  no 
means  true.  I  have  frequently  seen  a  hoard  of 
hemlock  seeds  which  had  been  dug  and  eaten  by 
a  red  squirrel  in  a  part  of  the  country  where  there 
are  no  greys.  The  tracks  of  a  squirrel  resemble 
to  some  extent  those  of  a  mink.  When  first  I 
began  looking  at  tracks  in  the  snow  I  could  only 
be  sure  which  were  which  by  following  them  up  ; 
if  they  began  and  ended  at  a  tree  I  called  them 
squirrels',  if  at  a  stream  or  swamp  they  were  put 
down  as  minks'.  This  was  a  tedious  way  of  doing 

u  2 


292     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

things  and  somewhat  uncertain.  The  real  differ- 
ence between  them  is  that  the  squirrel,  like  the 
hare,  places  his  hind  feet  slightly  in  advance  of  his 
fore  feet.  But,  unlike  the  hare,  the  footprints  are 
scarcely  separated.  The  mink  when  running  does 
not  arch  the  back  very  much  and  goes  in  bounds, 
landing  the  hind  feet  almost  directly  in  the  prints 
made  by  the  fore  feet.  When  the  snow  is  deep  they 
are  often  undistinguishable.  If  the  mink  has  to  go 
under  any  obstacle,  such  as  a  bent  tree  or  a  fence 
rail,  instead  of  bounding,  it  walks,  its  body  leaving 
a  deep  furrow  in  the  snow,  for  its  legs  are  very 
short.  To  follow  a  mink's  track  is  usually  to  see 
the  mute  story  of  a  tragedy.  Just  some  trampled 
snow  and  a  red  stain.  The  whole  method  of 
hunting  is  told  by  the  snow.  We  see  how  they 
follow  a  rabbit,  taking  every  precaution  not  to 
betray  their  presence  while  the  wretched  creature 
feeds,  for  then  it  is  alert ;  how  they  follow  it,  as 
described  in  the  previous  part  of  this  chapter,  to 
where  it  sleeps  beneath  a  log,  an  upturned  roof  or 
the  snow-covered  top  of  a  fallen  tree,  and  then 
stealthily  creep  on  their  unsuspecting  prey ;  how 
sometimes  the  rustling  of  a  dead  leaf  warns  the 
rabbit,  who  leaps  forward,  perhaps  just  in  time  to 
avoid  the  furious  onslaught  of  the  unlovable  mink, 
though  more  often  too  late,  in  which  case  the  red 
stain  tells  us  that  the  rabbit  has  been  eaten  where 
it  expected  to  sleep.  All  these  things  and  so  much 
more  we  are  told  by  the  snow.  If  only  we  will  use 
our  eyes  we  can  learn  more  of  the  ways  of  animals  in 
a  week  of  good  snow  than  many  months  or  even 
years  of  summer.  Should  snow  fall  when  the 


Tracks  in  the  Snow,  showing  where  a  Mink  has  caught  a  Musk-rat  as  it 
emerged  from  a  hole  in  the  ice.  The  dark  patch  in  the  centre  of  the 
picture  is  blood. 


TRACKS    IN   THE   SNOW  293 

animals  have  their  young,  what  havoc  would  be 
wrought  among  the  weaker  species  by  such  creatures 
as  the  mink,  the  weasel  or  the  fox.  The  home  of  the 
young  would  be  revealed  to  man  and  beast.  But, 
fortunately,  few  animals,  with  the  exception  of  the 
mice  and  the  porcupine,  give  birth  to  their  young 
until  after  the  treacherous  snow  has  gone. 

To  give  an  accurate  description  in  words  of  the 
forms  of  the  various  animals'  tracks  in  the  snow 
would  be  almost  if  not  quite  impossible,  so  subtle  are 
the  differences,  and  it  seems  best  to  advise  anyone 
interested  in  the  subject  to  visit  a  zoo  on  a  snowy 
day,  and  then  make  mental  and  pencil  notes  while 
the  tracks  are  fresh  and  there  is  absolutely  no 
question  as  to  by  what  animal  they  are  made.  Of 
course,  where  you  have  the  good  fortune  to  see 
a  wild  animal  in  its  wild  state  and  the  snow  is  in 
good  condition,  take  advantage  of  the  circumstance 
by  making  a  careful  examination  of  the  tracks, 
following  to  see  whether  they  change  much  under 
different  conditions.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
say  that  a  knowledge  of  the  form  of  the  animal's 
foot  is  desirable.  Such  knowledge  may  be  partially 
obtained  from  skins  and  mounted  specimens  in  the 
museums,  but,  owing  to  the  drying  of  the  pads,  no 
accurate  idea  can  be  gained  of  what  the  footprint 
is  like  except  from  the  living  or  freshly-killed 
animal.  A  muddy  day  in  a  zoo  will  teach  you 
more  about  the  exact  form  of  an  animal's  footprint 
than  all  the  museums  in  the  world. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  TRAPPER 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   LIFE   OF   THE   TRAPPER, 

THE   MAN   FOR   WHOM    COLD   WEATHER   IS   A 
SOURCE   OF   LIVELIHOOD 

OF  all  the  means  by  which  man  makes  his 
livelihood  there  is  probably  none  that  appeals 
more  strongly  to  the  imagination,  especially  of  the 
growing  boy,  than  the  life  of  the  trapper.  Most 
boys  at  some  time  or  other  in  their  lives  decide  to 
throw  off  the  yoke  of  civilisation  and  devote  them- 
selves to  the  life  of  trapping.  They  usually  know 
absolutely  nothing  about  it,  nothing  of  the  hard- 
ships, of  the  disappointments,  of  the  years  of 
training  necessary,  and  of  the  inborn  skill  of  wood- 
craft, without  which  success  is  not  to  be  found.  All 
they  know  is  that  the  trapper  is  one  who  lives  in  a 
wide  world  of  freedom,  and  whose  life  is  surrounded 
by  a  veil  of  picturesque  uncertainty.  To  be 
enveloped  in  this  veil  is  the  keenest  desire  of  the 
boy  gifted  with  that  most  precious  of  gifts — a 
healthy  imagination.  But  the  trapper's  life  is  not 
all  beer  and  skittles,  not  one  long  round  of  pleasure 
and  success.  Every  pelt  sold  or  exchanged  is 
procured  only  after  a  vast  expenditure  of  work, 
work  that  would  make  the  ordinary  labourer 
shudder.  How  little  does  the  fashionable  lady 
realise  when  she  selects  some  fur  that  suits  her 
fastidious  fancy  what  that  fur  cost  the  man  whose 


298     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

hermit-like  life  is  spent  in  gathering  pelts  for  the 
great  fur  markets  of  the  world.  And  yet  the 
trapper  is  a  man  to  be  envied,  especially  so  if  his 
country  is  one  rich  in  fur-bearing  animals,  for  then 
he  can  make  a  good  living,  and,  greatest  of  luxuries, 
be  his  own  master.  The  lives  of  trappers  are  all 
very  much  alike,  varying  chiefly  with  the  climatic 
conditions  in  which  they  live.  In  Florida  the  life 
is  seen  in  its  easiest  form,  free  from  most  of  the 
hardships  incidental  to  the  cold  country  of  the  vast 
north,  but  then  the  profits  are  small,  for  the 
southern  skins,  being  thinner,  bring  lower  prices. 
Let  us  follow  a  Canadian  trapper  during  one 
year  of  his  life,  and  we  shall  have  some  slight  idea 
of  the  method  by  which  he  gains  his  living.  When 
the  nights  begin  to  be  cold  and  the  maples  in  the 
forests  show  the  scarlet  danger-sign  that  warns  the 
land  of  the  approach  of  the  awful  cold  of  winter, 
and  when  the  shivering  poplars  and  silver  birches 
throw  off  their  leafy  covering  that  they  may  the 
better  be  able  to  bear  up  against  the  heavy,  clinging 
snows  ;  when  the  beavers  strengthen  their  houses, 
gather  their  winter  supplies  of  food,  and  the 
squirrels  collect  quantities  of  nuts  and  seeds  and 
cache  them  beneath  the  trees,  then  nature  clothes 
all  her  animals  with  heavy  coats  of  fur  that  they 
may  be  protected  against  the  coming  winter,  and 
the  trapper  knows  that  the  time  has  come  when  he 
must  repair  his  log  or  birch-bark  shanties,  and  take 
in  his  food  supplies,  just  as  the  beaver  is  doing. 
Each  man  has  his  territory  wherein  he  may  set  his 
traps,  and  if  his  claim  be  good  it  is  undisputed. 
He  may  hold  it  for  life  provided  he  never  leaves  it 


THE   LIFE   OF   THE   TRAPPER    299 

untrapped  for  three  consecutive  years.  Should 
any  other  man  place  a  trap  on  this  land,  he  who 
has  the  trapping  rights  springs  the  trap  and  hangs 
it  on  a  bush  as  a  warning  to  the  intruder.  A  line 
of  traps  extends  over  a  distance  varying  from  five 
to  fifty  miles.  This  line  is  not  a  line  in  the  sense 
that  some  people  imagine,  for  the  traps  are  placed 
sometimes  a  mile  or  so  apart,  only  the  likely- 
looking  situations  being  chosen,  and  these  are 
usually  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  lakes 
and  swamps.  The  trail  leading  to  the  traps  is 
usually  blazed,  for  when  the  heavy  snow  falls  the 
appearance  of  the  country  is  completely  changed 
and  the  trap  would  be  lost  if  there  were  no  sign  to 
show  its  whereabouts.  For  each  kind  of  animal 
a  special  trap  is  constructed.  For  mink  a  rough 
pen  is  made,  usually  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  ;  old  wood 
is  used  for  uprights  and  they  are  placed  fairly  near 
together;  inside,  a  meat  bait  of  any  kind  is 
suspended,  and  just  inside  the  entrance  to  the  pen 
the  steel  trap  is  set ;  small  twigs  are  placed  on 
either  side  sloping  towards  the  pen,  and  often  a 
piece  of  hemlock  or  spruce  is  laid  on  the  outer  side 
of  the  trap,  so  that  the  animal  will  have  to  jump, 
and  the  chances  are  he  will  land  on  the  pan  of  the 
trap.  Over  the  pen  a  roof  is  made  of  balsam  branches, 
to  protect  the  trap  from  the  snow.  For  lynx  the 
same  sort  of  pen  is  used,  except  that  it  is  larger 
and  a  noose  of  heavy  fish  line  or  wire  is  often  used 
instead  of  the  steel  trap.  Marten  are  caught  both 
with  the  steel  trap  and  the  dead  fall.  For  musk-rat 
it  is  necessary  to  place  the  trap  beneath  a  rough 
shelter  of  branches  on  the  ice  where  a  hole  has 


300    WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

been  made.  The  trap  is  attached  to  the  middle  of 
a  stick,  so  that  when  the  animal  is  caught  and 
makes  for  the  water,  the  hole  in  the  ice  not  being 
large  enough  to  allow  the  stick  to  pass,  he  soon 
drowns.  For  otter  the  trap  must  be  set  beneath 
water  at  a  place  where  the  current  is  swift  enough 
to  prevent  the  forming  of  ice.  The  water  must  be 
shallow,  so  that  the  otter  will  have  to  walk,  and 
twigs  are  placed  on  either  side  of  the  trap,  with  the 
idea  of  leading  the  animal  directly  over  it.  As  a 
good  otter  skin  is  worth  to  the  trapper  about 
eighteen  dollars,  it  will  be  understood  that  no 
trouble  is  spared  in  arranging  the  traps,  the 
result  being  that  the  otter  is  becoming  very  scarce 
in  most  localities. 

Before  the  time  for  the  first  snow  the  trapper 
has  all  his  traps  set  and  has  his  cabin  ready  for 
winter.  As  a  rule  the  cabin  is  made  of  hemlock 
or  spruce  logs,  the  crevices  being  well  clinked  with 
moss  or  other  suitable  substance.  As  heat  is  the 
all-important  thing  to  be  desired  the  cabins  are 
made  very  small.  The  one  shown  in  these  illustra- 
tions belonged  to  a  one-armed  trapper  who  through- 
out the  winter  lives  in  the  woods  with  his  two  dogs, 
large,  smooth-coated  St.  Bernards,  as  his  sole  com- 
panions. The  diminutive  cabin,  when  I  saw  it,  was 
so  covered  with  snow  that  it  was  scarcely  visible. 
Its  tiny  door,  scarcely  large  enough  to  admit  a  man, 
even  though  he  enter  on  all  fours  ;  the  window  not 
more  than  nine  inches  square,  the  old  stove  made 
out  of  a  large  tin  canister,  the  single,  small  three- 
legged  stool  made  from  a  single  piece  of  hemlock 
whose  b  ranches  happened  to  grow  in  the  desired 


— 

2 


THE   LIFE   OF   THE   TRAPPER     301 

way,  the  scanty  cooking  utensils  and  the  bed  of 
sapling  covered  over  with  balsam  boughs,  all  be- 
spoke poverty,  yet  the  man,  each  winter,  made  from 
four  hundred  to  five  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  by 
trapping,  and  supported  in  comparative  comfort 
his  sister  and  old  invalid  father  who  lived  in  a 
cottage  near  the  settlement.  Joe  had  but  one  arm, 
yet  he  could  use  that  one  as  well  as  most  men  can 
use  two.  Only  when  it  came  to  washing  his  hand 
did  he  experience  any  great  difficulty.  His  line  of 
two  hundred  traps  extended  over  forty  miles  of 
country,  and  every  two  weeks  these  had  to  be 
visited.  At  intervals  along  the  line  small  cabins 
were  built  where,  if  necessary,  he  could  spend  the 
night,  for  the  winter  days  in  the  north  are  very 
short  and  travelling  on  snow-shoes  over  soft  snow 
is  slow  work.  These  outlying  huts  are,  if  possible, 
even  more  primitive  than  the  one  just  described. 
Yet  they  answer  all  purposes.  We  can  imagine  Joe 
starting  out  on  his  round,  too  experienced  a  trapper 
to  build  castles  in  the  air  such  as  the  novice  delights 
in,  for  well  does  Joe  know  that  unprecedented 
numbers  of  pelts  are  only  taken  from  traps  that 
are  set  in  the  lands  of  happy  imagination.  Should 
the  day  be  fine  and  the  snow  in  good  condition,  the 
task  will  be  comparatively  easy  and  he  will  be  able 
to  visit  trap  after  trap  in  quick  succession.  Perhaps 
ten,  twenty,  thirty  or  forty  may  be  visited  and  no 
animals  found.  In  one,  perhaps,  the  snow  has 
drifted  in  and  clogged  the  trap,  and  the  footprints 
show  that  a  mink  has  entered,  eaten  the  bait,  and 
left,  satisfied  with  a  full  meal,  asking  no  questions 
as  to  how  it  came  there  Then  the  trapper  knows 


302     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

he  has  lost  about  four  dollars.     In   many  of  the 
traps  the  bait  has  been  eaten  by  the  mice  or  weasels, 
but  by  far  the  greatest  number  show  no  sign  of 
having  been  visited  by  animals.     The  virgin  snow, 
that  recorder  of  deeds,  writes  no  word,  and  the 
trapper,  after  a  single  glance,  passes  on.     Perhaps 
the  result  of  the  day's  work  may  be  but  three  or 
four  musk-rats,  whose  skins  are  worth  about  eighteen 
cents  apiece.*     Then,  as  darkness  sets  in,  he  goes  to 
one  of  the  shanties,  and,  after  a  lonely  and  frugal 
meal  of  pan-bread  and  pork,  lies  on  the  floor  close 
to  the  fire,  and,  before  his  pipe  is  out,  has  fallen 
asleep.     The  morning  sees  him  up  long  before  the 
sun.     Making  his  toilet  is  a  simple  operation,  con- 
sisting only  of  rubbing  his  eyes,  perhaps  putting  on 
a  dry  pair  of  socks,  and  then  lighting  his  pipe,  and 
after  a  few  mouthfuls  of  food  he  is  off  again.     The 
day  may  not  be  fine  as  the  day  before  had  been. 
Maybe  it  has  snowed  all  night  and  is  still  snowing, 
with  a  light  wind  blowing  and  a  temperature  of 
twenty-five  degrees  below  zero.     If  so,  the  work 
will  be  more  difficult,  but  he  must  tramp  on.     The 
sound  of  the  snow-shoes  as  they  touch  each  other 
at  every  step  and  the  moaning  of  the  wind  in  the 
tops  of  the  evergreens  alone  break  the   frightful 
stillness  of  the  snowbound  country.    The  day  may 
prove  a  more  lucky  one.     Once  Joe   found   two 
otters  in  a  single  trip  over  his  line,  but  that  was 
unusual  and   therefore  a  day  to  be  remembered. 
Possibly  he  might  find  a  cross  fox  (between  black 
and  silver,  I  believe),  and  that  is  good  luck,  but  a 
silver  fox  is  the  best  of  all,  for  it  brings  the  trapper 

*  This  was  in  1902. 


Joe,"  the  one-armed  Trapper. 


THE   LIFE   OF   THE   TRAPPER     303 

anywhere  from  fifty  dollars  to  two  hundred  dollars 
(and  sells  at  the  fur  sales  as  high  as  two  thousand  two 
hundred),  but  then,  few  of  them  are  caught.     An 
average  trip  along  the  line  of  traps  would  bring 
in  from  thirty  to  forty  dollars,  and  most  of  these 
would  be  in  mink  skins.     No  trap  would  be  used 
except  during  the  trapping  season,  which  lasts  from 
September  or  October  till  March  or  April,  when 
Joe  returns  to  the  settlement  to  dispose  of  his  supply 
of  pelts  and  buy  provisions.     The  pelts  are  either 
sold  or  exchanged  at  the  general  store,  or  they  are 
sold  to  the  travelling  fur-buyers,  who  visit  all  parts 
of  the  country,  even  in  the  most   remote  settle- 
ments, where  they  can  pick  up  odd  skins  at  low 
prices.      The  season  ended,  he  goes  to  his  farm  if 
he  has  one,  or  perhaps  he  remains  in  the  woods  act- 
ing as  guide  to  the  stray  sportsmen  who  happen  to 
visit   the   district.     A   good   trapper  is  usually   a 
good  guide,  for  he  is  thoroughly  at  home  in  the 
woods  and  knows  much  about  the  habits  of  animals. 
Owing  to  the  increased  demand  for  furs  and  the 
absurd  demands  of  fashion  which  require  that  fur 
garments  be  of  different  shape  and  style  each  year, 
the  fur-bearing  animals  in  their  wild  state  are  yearly 
becoming   scarcer.      So   it   is   safe   to   conjecture 
that  fur  farms  will  in  the  future  supply  the  markets 
and  the  trapper   will  be  a  man  of  the  past,  and 
those  who  come  after  us  will  then  read  of  his  life, 
and  it  will  read  like  a  fairy  tale.     As  the  large  birch- 
bark  canoe,  laden  to  the  gunwale  with  furs,  is  pass- 
ing  down   the   quick-flowing   river   of    time   and 
civilisation,  so,  too,  will   the  picturesque  trapper 
slowly  glide  out  of  existence. 


CAMPING  FOR  ALL  SEASONS 


W.L.C. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CAMPING  FOR  ALL  SEASONS 

CAMPING  IN  THE  COLD 

HE  who  camps  during  the  warm  summer  months 
finds  comforts  in  abundance  and  drawbacks  scarcely 
noticeable ;  he  who  chooses  the  bright  cool  days  of 
the  waning  year  finds  many  things  to  enjoy,  and 
only  when  the  cold  rains  come  does  he  meet  with 
any  of  the  disagreeable  features  of  the  fascinating 
simple  life  in  the  woods ;  but  of  all  seasons  for 
camping  perhaps  none  offers  the  peculiar  fascina- 
tions that  are  to  be  found  when  the  land  is  clothed 
in  its  unspotted  winter  garb.  Then  the  air  is  clean 
and  clear,  the  woods  are  even  more  silent  than  when 
they  are  dressed  in  green,  and  the  trees  and  shrubs 
are  transformed  by  their  wonderful  white  overcoats. 
On  a  bright  day  all  things  glisten,  and  the  sparkling 
crystals  seem  to  dance  and  laugh  in  the  crisp  cold 
sunlight,  which  illumines,  but  does  not  warm.  The 
tree-top  bends  with  its  load  of  snow,  and  should  the 
cold  be  very  intense  the  strange,  sharp  sound  of  a 
frost-burst  tree  rings  up  the  forest  echoes.  Then 
all  is  again  silent,  absolutely  silent.  To  give  up 
the  warmth  and  other  comforts  of  a  home  and  take 
oneself  off  to  the  cold  northern  woods  does  not 
sound  alluring  to  those  who  have  not  tried  it.  The 
inducements  appear  few  indeed  to  the  uninitiated, 
and  he  asks  derisively  where  the  pleasure  comes  in. 

x  2 


308     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

It  is  difficult  to  answer  the  question  with  mere 
words.  To  describe  the  delights  of  tramping 
through  the  snow-bound  woods,  equipped  with  well 
fitting  snow-shoes,  is  not  easy.  Almost  ghostly  is 
the  scarcely  audible  swish-swish  of  the  snow-shoes 
as  they  pass  over  the  firm  dry  snow.  The  keen  air 
is  bracing,  so  that  your  strength  seems  equal  to  any 
task.  Where  is  the  awful  cold  you  have  heard 
about?  Surely  the  temperature  is  scarcely  below 
freezing  ;  and  you  remove  your  heavy  woollen  jacket. 
Then  your  woollen  gloves  feel  over  warm,  and  they 
too  must  come  off.  Wait  just  a  minute  and  see 
what  the  thermometer  has  to  show :  20°  below 
zero.  Why,  surely  it  must  be  wrong?  But  no,  your 
fingers  have  frozen  to  the  metal  case,  the  perspira- 
tion changes  to  ice  as  it  falls  on  your  arm.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  the  mercury  is  right,  for  now  that  you 
have  stopped  exercising  you  really  do  feel  that  the 
cold  is  intense.  When  the  air  is  so  dry  it  is  very 
deceptive,  and  not  until  your  fingers  freeze  do  you 
appreciate  the  cold. 

The  first  thing  necessary  for  comfort  when  on 
a  camp  trip  in  the  snow  is  proper  clothing  for  day 
and  night.  Men  accustomed  to  the  cold  will  sleep 
before  a  large  open  fire  and  have  no  blanket  over 
them.  It  is  not  advisable  for  the  man  accustomed  to 
steam-heated  rooms  to  attempt  this.  A  good  sleep- 
ing bag  made  of  four  thicknesses  of  light-weight  pure 
wool  blanket  with  an  inner  bag  of  natural  wool 
bating  covered  with  thin  flannel  is  all  that  is  needed, 
but  on  no  account  use  any  bag  that  laces  at  the 
lower  end.  These  laced  bags  are  good  enough  for 
temperate  weather,  and  they  have  the  advantage  of 


60 

I 

I 


CAMPING  FOR   ALL   SEASONS     309 

being  easily  aired,  but  they  allow  too  much  cold  to 
enter,  so  for  cold  weather  they  are  not  to  be  recom- 
mended. A  light-weight  waterproof  outer  cover- 
ing, though  not  absolutely  necessary,  is  by  no  means 
to  be  despised.  Heavy,  loose-fitting,  or,  better  still, 
many  suits  of  large  thin  woollen  underclothes, 
loose  woollen  stockings,  and  a  toque  cap  complete 
the  necessary  sleeping  outfit,  to  which  a  loose- 
fitting  sweater  may  be  added  in  case  of  very  cold 
weather.  In  the  way  of  clothing  there  are  many 
differences  of  opinion  as  to  what  is  best.  Some 
people  contend  that  a  suit  of  linen  mesh  underwear 
should  be  worn  next  to  the  skin,  covered  by  one 
thickness  of  very  heavy  wool,  a  thick  woollen  shirt 
and  homespun  outer  clothes,  to  which  the  inevit- 
able sweater  should  be  added ;  while  others  think 
it  best  to  wear  three  suits  of  light-weight  loose 
woollen  underwear,  instead  of  the  one  heavier 
weight  and  the  linen  mesh.  Whatever  underwear 
you  take,  be  sure  it,  as  well  as  your  other  garments, 
is  of  ample  size ;  tight  clothing  is  cold  clothing, 
and, besides  being  cold, it  interferes  with  the  freedom 
of  one's  limbs.  Two  pairs  of  heavy  woollen  stock- 
ings should  be  worn,  and  of  course  with  snow-shoes 
moccasins  are  the  only  thing.  These  may  be  of 
"  beef, "  buckskin,  or  green  moose  hide  with  the 
hair  on;  the  "beef,"  oil-tanned, are  excellent,  being 
waterproof  and  strong.  The  buckskin  is  soft  and 
strong  but  porous,  so  that  if  the  snow  happens  to 
be  at  all  wet  you  will  be  sure  of  damp,  and  conse- 
quently cold  feet.  Cloth-lined  rubber  shoes  such 
as  the  lumber  men  wear  are  handy  for  use  around 
camp,  but  they  should  not  be  worn  with  snow- 


310     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

shoes,  as  they  cut  the  webbing.  For  head-gear  a 
broad-brim  felt  hat  or  the  toque  may  be  used. 
The  former  is  useful  in  going  through  the  woods 
when  the  branches  are  snow-laden,  as  it  keeps  the 
snow  from  sifting  coolly  down  one's  back.  In  very 
bad  weather  a  woollen  cap,  which  covers  the  head, 
neck,  ears,  and  cheeks,  is  a  great  comfort,  as  it  keeps 
the  driving  snow  from  stinging  one's  face,  and  will 
usually  protect  the  ears  from  freezing.  Such  a 
hood  is  also  comfortable  for  a  nightcap.  Do  not  on 
any  account  carry  anything  that  is  not  absolutely 
necessary.  Snow -shoeing  trips  are  not  like 
canoe  trips.  In  a  canoe  a  few  pounds  more  or  less 
make  but  little  difference,  but  on  the  snow,  whether 
you  have  a  dog-sled,  or  draw  the  pack  yourself, 
you  will  find  that  extra  weight  counts  in  an  alarm- 
ing way.  A  well-filled  pack-basket,  which  could 
be  easily  carried  under  ordinary  conditions,  would 
prove  discouraging  when  the  snow  is  in  good  con- 
dition, and  impossible  if  the  snow  should  happen  to 
be  deep  and  soft,  so  I  repeat,  throw  out  all  un- 
necessary things  and  be  liberal  in  determining  what 
things  are  unnecessary.  In  the  way  of  shelter,  a 
light-weight  tent  is  useful,  though  not  absolutely 
essential.  It  should  be  in  the  form  of  a  lean-to 
with  no  front,  something  like  a  reflecting  oven. 
The  lower  parts  must  be  well  embedded  in  the 
snow  to  keep  out  draughts.  A  large  fire  directly 
in  front  will  throw  enough  heat  into  the  tent  to 
keep  a  person  warm  even  in  the  coldest  weather. 
If  the  party  is  large,  put  the  tents  end  to  end,  and 
have  one  long  or  two  smaller  fires  in  front  of  them. 
But  do  not  on  any  account  place  two  of  these  tents 


I 

£ 

03 

60 
fl 


CAMPING  FOR  ALL   SEASONS     311 

one  on  either  side  of  the  fire,  for  by  doing  so  a 
funnel  is  formed  and  nearly  all  the  heat  goes  up- 
ward and  is  lost.  I  once  saw  a  camp  formed  in 
this  way  and  spent  the  night  in  it.  So  great  was 
the  cold  that  our  coffee  froze  within  a  few  minutes 
after  it  was  poured  out,  while  within  four  or  five 
feet  of  a  huge  fire,  and  in  the  back  end  of  the  tent 
the  temperature  was  many  (18,  I  think)  degrees 
below  zero.  Pancake  batter  had  to  be  mixed  with 
nearly  boiling  water  and  held  near  the  fire  all  the 
time  to  prevent  its  freezing.  Such  a  camp  had 
little  in  the  way  of  comfort  to  offer.  Should 
sparks  fall  on  the  tent,  sprinkle  it  on  the  outside 
with  water  which  freezes  and  makes  the  cloth 
practically  fireproof.  When  no  tent  is  carried,  a 
shack  may  be  made  of  bark  or  boughs,  which,  if 
covered  with  snow,  will  keep  the  wind  out  and  the 
heat  in.  In  the  event  of  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  pre- 
cautions must  be  taken  to  prevent  the  tent  giving 
way  beneath  the  weight  of  the  snow.  A  rough 
structure  of  boughs  over  the  tent  will  have  the 
desired  effect. 

A  most  important  part  of  the  outfit  is  the  food, 
for  so  much  depends  on  the  proper  selection  and 
quantity.  Do  not  go  by  what  some  precise-minded 
man  says.  He  works  out  the  problem  theoretically 
with  mathematical  precision  for  which  you  gene- 
rally have  to  suffer.  I  once  was  a  victim  of  such 
system,  and  now  I  carry  what  I  think  will  be 
sufficient  and  not  what  somebody  else  knows  will  be 
enough.  In  cold  weather  one's  appetite  is  usually 
keen,  and  in  order  to  keep  out  the  cold  a  full 
stomach  is  very  essential,  and,  I  may  add, 


312     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

comforting.  In  making  out  the  provision-list  do  not 
ever  think  of  canned  foods,  except  the  unsweetened 
condensed  milk  (I  have  never  known  it  to  freeze) ; 
canned  meats  are  luxuries  which  are  heavy  to  carry 
and  cumbersome  to  pack.  Whenever  possible,  put 
all  provisions  in  strong  muslin  or  paraffined  cloth 
bags,  and  pack  these  in  waterproof  canvas  bags  of 
convenient  size  for  carrying.  Cooking  utensils  of 
aluminium  are  the  only  suitable  kind,  not  only  on 
account  of  their  lightness,  but  because  they  will 
not  burn.  An  outfit  of  good  quality  should,  with 
care,  last  a  lifetime.  It  is  well  to  remember  that 
all  trace  of  either  salt  or  ashes  should  be  carefully 
removed  before  the  utensils  are  put  away  for  any 
length  of  time.  In  selecting  an  axe,  which,  need- 
less to  say,  is  an  important  part  of  the  outfit, 
choose  one  that  is  light  and  has  a  long  handle,  and 
be  sure  that  it  is  tempered  to  suit  the  cold  weather  ; 
an  axe  tempered  for  southern  countries  will  fly  to 
pieces  when  used  in  a  very  cold  climate. 

As  the  camera  is  an  almost  invariable  adjunct  to 
the  camper's  outfit,  a  few  words  of  caution  in  regard 
to  the  care  of  it  may  not  be  amiss — above  all  things 
keep  the  camera  and  the  plates  (or  films)  well  away 
from  the  fire,  as  the  slightest  warmth  will  cause 
moisture  to  condense  not  only  on  the  lens,  both 
inside  and  out,  and  working  parts  of  the  shutters, 
but  also  on  the  plates  or  films,  and  this  moisture 
will  freeze  immediately  the  camera  is  removed 
from  the  influence  of  the  fire.  If  glass  plates  are 
used,  do  not  dust  them  with  a  brush  when  filling 
the  plate-holders,  as,  owing  to  the  dryness  of  the 
air,  the  electricity  that  is  generated  by  the  friction 


CAMPING  FOR  ALL   SEASONS     313 

will  cause  all  particles  of  dust  to  be  drawn  to  the 
films  ;  so  it  is  better  either  to  leave  the  plates  un- 
dusted,  or  to  gently  (and  dryly)  blow  the  surface. 
If  a  tripod  is  used,  and  it  is  by  all  means  recom- 
mended, the  length  of  the  ordinary  legs  will  be  found 
quite  insufficient,  owing  to  the  depth  of  the  snow ; 
an  extension  leg  of  about  two  feet  in  length  will 
prove  of  the  utmost  value,  or,  better  still,  have 
small  light  discs,  about  four  or  five  inches  in 
diameter,  which  should  screw  on  to  the  end  of  the 
tripod  legs.  Those  will  act  as  snow-shoes  and 
prevent  the  legs  sinking  too  deeply  in  the  snow. 
Keep  plates  or  films  in  a  waterproof  bag,  and  let  the 
bag  be  buried  in  the  snow  when  not  in  use. 

CAMPING  IN  SUMMER. 

WHEN  the  trees  are  in  full  leaf  and  the  days 
begin  to  be  warm  most  of  us  talk  of  what  we  will 
do  during  the  summer  ;  how  we  will  spend  our 
holiday.  Each  one  has  some  particular  idea  of  how 
a  summer  holiday  should  be  spent.  One  prefers  the 
sea-shore,  another  a  regular  summer  hotel  in  the 
country,  and  many  take  long  trips  on  bicycles  or 
in  boats.  Comparatively  few  even  think  of  camp- 
ing ;  the  crudest  country  boarding-house  or  the 
much  caricatured  farm-house  which  condescends 
to  be  inconvenienced  by  summer  guests  for  a  paltry 
consideration  of  $10  per  week  ($5  would  be  more 
than  ample)  seem  to  the  uninitiated  better  than 
camping,  and  they  put  up  with  uncomfortable  and 
often  unclean  beds,  stuffy  rooms,  and  poor  food  with- 
out a  murmur.  Why  do  they  not  take  a  good  tent, 
or  several  if  the  party  is  large,  and  go  to  some  suitable 


314     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

place  and  there  enjoy  the  summer?  The  cost 
of  an  outing  of  this  kind,  if  divided  among  a  few 
friends,  is  very  small,  while  the  pleasure  and  benefits 
to  be  derived  from  being  in  the  open  air  so  much  of 
the  time  are,  of  course,  beyond  words.  Almost  any 
degree  of  comfort  may  be  had  in  camp  life  when  one 
is  near  a  village,  and,  while  roughing  it  appeals 
strongly  to  some  of  us,  it  is  by  no  means  necessary. 
Why  so  many  people  insist  on  using  tin  cups  and 
spoons  and  steel  forks  when  camping  I  have  never 
been  able  to  understand.  They  would  not  use 
them  at  home  ;  even  the  idea  of  it  would  be  repul- 
sive to  their  delicate  taste.  Then  why  not  carry 
plated  forks  and  spoons  into  the  woods  ?  They 
are  no  heavier,  are  more  easily  cleaned,  and  have,  so 
far  as  I  know,  no  drawback  ;  enamel  iron  cups  and 
plates  are  a  trifle  heavier  than  tin.  They  are  also 
more  desirable.  Wooden  plates  are  sometimes  used 
by  those  who  have  little  love  for  dish-washing,  but 
as  the  cooking  utensils  have  to  be  washed,  very 
little  labour  is  saved  by  using  them.  In  order  to 
make  a  tent  absolutely  comfortable,  a  board  floor 
should  be  laid.  It  costs  very  little,  and  is  worth 
any  price.  As  a  rule  a  carpenter  will  lay  it  for  a 
small  consideration  if  he  can  have  the  boards  after 
you  have  finished  using  them.  It  is  best  to  have 
the  boards  planed  on  one  side.  Otherwise  it  will 
be  necessary  to  lay  a  canvas  floor-cloth,  on  account  of 
the  splinters.  In  pitching  a  wall  tent  it  is  best  not 
to  use  the  regular  tent-pegs,  but  drive  a  strong 
stake  (which  should  be  at  least  a  foot  higher  than 
the  wall)  in  at  each  corner.  To  these  stakes  two 
poles  should  be  fastened  on  each  side  of  the  tent, 


CAMPING   FOR   ALL   SEASONS     315 

one  for  the  tent  grip,  the  other  a  foot  or  two  above 
for  the  fly,  a  necessary  thing  in  hot  weather.  In 
this  way  you  do  away  with  the  long  grip  ropes, 
over  which  everyone  trips,  and  as  they  shrink  and 
stretch  continually,  according  to  the  amount  of 
moisture  in  the  air,  they  are  a  constant  source  of 
annoyance.  Around  the  tent  a  shallow  ditch 
should  be  dug,  otherwise  the  drip  from  the  roof 
during  a  heavy  rain  will  form  pools  under  the  floor. 
If  no  fly  is  used  it  is  well  to  remember  that  nothing 
must  come  in  contact  with  the  tent  roof.  A  leak 
will  result  if  this  is  forgotten.  In  the  way  of  beds 
there  is  nothing  much  cheaper  or  more  easily  trans- 
ported than  a  folding  canvas  bed.  These  require 
no  mattresses,  and  are  therefore  comfortable  for 
summer  use.  If  you  sleep  on  the  floor,  a  mattress 
is  more  or  less  necessary,  but  it  is  more  cumbersome 
than  the  folding  bed.  Of  course  if  you  are  camp- 
ing in  a  place  where  balsam  or  fir  is  abundant,  then 
use  the  tips  of  the  branches,  and  no  better  bed  need 
one  wish  for.  Some  people  carry  folding  tables 
and  chairs  with  them ;  these  are  comfortable,  but 
by  no  means  necessary  A  plank  placed  on  two 
boxes  will  serve  for  a  bench,  and  several  boards  laid 
together  are  good  enough  for  a  table.  Folding 
tables  are  small  and  usually  expensive.  Two  hem- 
lock boards,  12  inches  wide  and  7  feet  long,  cost 
but  a  trifle,  and  will  answer  better  than  a  folding 
table  costing  six  or  eight  dollars.  For  cupboards, 
packing-boxes,  with  their  lids  arranged  as  shelves, 
are  most  convenient.  A  piece  of  clean  cloth  will 
serve  as  a  door  for  those  who  are  very  particular. 
We  all  associate  a  large  open  fire  with  camp  life. 


316     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

A  pile  of  huge  logs  burning  and  crackling,  with 
pots  hanging  over  it,  is,  of  course,  the  only  thing 
when  we  camp  in  the  wilds,  but  near  civilisation 
there  is  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  wood,  and  anyhow 
an  open  fire  is  not  nearly  so  convenient  as  a  stove 
for  cooking  purposes.  Especially  is  this  true 
during  the  warmer  months.  For  practical  use  there 
is  nothing  much  better  than  an  oil  stove,  which 
should  be  used  in  a  tent  and  sheltered  from  the 
winds.  In  case  you  are  bothered  by  mosquitoes, 
nets  over  the  beds  are  almost  a  necessity,  but  as  it 
is  nearly  impossible  to  make  a  tent  mosquito-proof, 
a  smudge  should  be  placed  in  a  suitable  place.  A 
smudge  is  easily  made  of  woods,  chips,  pieces  of 
bark,  leaves  and  grass,  placed  in  a  tin  bucket  or  can. 
Be  sure  not  to  leave  this  where  it  can  set  fire  to  the 
tent,  in  case  it  bursts  into  flame.  The  best  preven- 
tion for  mosquitoes  is  to  find  a  place  where  they  are 
not.  To  insure  comfort  it  is  absolutely  necessary 
to  place  your  camp  as  near  as  possible  to  the  water 
supply.  It  seems  easy  enough  to  carry  a  pail  or 
two  of  water  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  but  after 
a  time  you  will  come  to  the  conclusion  that  a  tenth 
of  the  distance  is  ample. 

A  very  delightful  way  of  spending  a  few  weeks 
is  to  go  either  alone  or  with  some  thoroughly  con- 
genial spirit,  taking  all  your  belongings  in  a  pack- 
basket.  In  this  way,  if  your  load  be  not  too  heavy, 
you  can  go  from  place  to  place  with  comfort,  camp- 
ing where  you  will.  A  few  days  can  be  spent  with 
the  greatest  possible  pleasure  along  a  trout  stream, 
away  from  habitations  ;  but  do  not  depend  altogether 
on  trout  for  food ;  if  you  catch  many  you  soon 


CAMPING  FOR  ALL    SEASONS     317 

become  tired  of  them,  and  there  is  always  that 
delightful  uncertainty  which  is  the  great  fascination 
of  the  sport,  but  which  would  lead  to  a  slender  meal ; 
and  such  a  thing  is  not  to  be  desired  in  camp. 
The  outfit  necessary  for  a  short  summer  trip  should 
not  weigh  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  pounds.  Some 

of  the  items  are : — 

Ibs. 
Tent  of  the  pattern  shown  in  the 

illustration,  large  enough  for  two 
persons         .....       3J 

Sleeping  bag  of  light  wool  blankets     10 

Rubber  or  waterproof  canvas  sheet, 
about  ......  4 

Change  of  underclothes  and  extra 
stockings  .  .  .  .  .4 

Cooking  utensils  of  aluminium,  two 
kettles,  fry-pan,  coffee-pot,  folding 
baker,  plate,  cup  and  bowl,  knife, 
fork  and  spoon  ....  5 

Fishing-rod  and  tackle    .         .  1J 

Light  axe,  with  long  handle    .         .       3 

Food  for  one  week,  per  head  : — 
Bacon,  3^  Ibs. ;  flour,  8  Ibs. ;  corn- 
meal,  3  Ibs. ;  rice,  2  Ibs. ;  butter, 
1J  Ibs.  ;  lard,  1£  Ibs.  ;  sugar, 
1J  Ibs. ;  cereal,  2  Ibs.  ;  baking 
powder,  £  Ib. ;  condensed  milk, 
2  Ibs. ;  coffee,  1  Ib.  (or  tea,  |  Ib.,  or 
chocolate,  \  Ib.) ;  dried  fruit,  2  Ibs.  28 

Total      ...     59 

To  this  may  be  added  a  can  or  two  of  meat,  even 
chipped  beef,  or  codfish. 


318     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

For  two  people  the  weight  for  each  individual  is 
of  course  less :  one  tent,  one  axe,  and  one  set  of 
cooking  utensils  being  enough.  The  quantity  of 
food  is  rather  less,  as  there  is  less  waste.  With  such 
an  outfit  one  can  live  in  comfort  for  a  week  if  no 
fish  are  caught,  while  the  addition  of  fish  will  make 
supplies  last  for  another  ten  days.  A  trip  to  the 
nearest  village  can  be  made  at  any  time  to  replenish 
the  supplies.  To  those  whose  tastes  run  in  the  direc- 
tion of  nature  studies,  a  camera  is  almost  a  necessity. 
A  4  by  5  size  is  large  enough,  and  it  should  be  of  the 
long  focus  type.  Roll  films  may  be  used,  but  either 
cut  films  or  glass  plates  will  be  more  satisfactory, 
and  will  be  worth  the  trouble  of  carrying. 

WINTER  CAMPING  IN  FLORIDA. 

IN  the  winter  months,  when  the  cold  winds  howl 
through  the  streets  of  the  northern  towns,  when 
the  streets  are  ankle-deep  in  slush,  and  when  all  the 
country  about  us  is  clothed  in  white,  and  the  leafless 
trees  are  pencilled  strongly  against  the  darkened  sky, 
then  our  houses  are  heated  almost  to  fever  point  by 
steam  or  hot  air,  and  we  long  for  the  genial  warmth 
of  the  south.  Its  bright  days  and  its  lazy  climate 
act  as  a  lodestone,  and  we  leave  the  cold  bleak  north 
and,  if  we  are  wise,  we  go  camping  in  that  winter 
paradise,  Florida.  Nowhere  can  we  find  more 
pleasure  than  in  this  land  of  palmetto  and  sand,  and 
nowhere  are  fewer  difficulties  to  be  met  with.  People 
talk  of  snakes  and  mosquitoes  and  shudder  at  the 
very  idea  of  sleeping  on  the  ground  in  such  a  pest- 
ridden  country.  How  little  do  they  know  of  the 
real  conditions !  Snakes  there  are,  'tis  true,  but 


CAMPING  FOR  ALL   SEASONS     319 

how  many  authentic  cases  of  deaths  from  snake 
bites  do  we  hear  of?  As  compared  with  the  deaths 
from  trolleys  or  from  fire  they  are  as  one  is  to  one 
million,  yet  people  walk  boldly  in  front  of  a  trolley 
and  light  fires  daily  with  no  idea  of  the  awful  risk 
they  must  surely  be  running.  But  camp  in  Florida, 
the  land  of  snakes  !  No,  never  1 

I  have  spent  many  months  camping  in  this 
terribly  dangerous  country,  sometimes  with  and 
sometimes  without  a  tent,  sleeping  in  all  sorts  of 
places,  shooting  in  swamps  and  in  pine-lands,  and 
two  rattlesnakes  only  have  I  seen  (both  inside 
a  city  limit).  Moccasins  are  common  in  places, 
but  so  slow  are  they  in  their  movements  that 
they  need  cause  but  little  fear.  As  for  mos- 
quitoes, about  which  one  is  always  asked,  excepting 
along  the  coast  they  are  seldom  noticeable.  A 
net  to  cover  the  bed  may  be  carried,  but  it  will 
seldom,  if  ever,  be  needed.  More  troublesome 
than  mosquitoes  or  snakes  are  the  turkey  buz- 
zards; these  winged  scavengers  are  at  times  a 
positive  nuisance.  Nothing  in  the  way  of  meat 
is  safe  from  their  searching  eyes  unless  it  is 
carefully  covered.  So  it  is  well  to  be  provided 
with  a  few  cheese-cloth  bags  of  different  sizes  in 
which  meat  of  any  kind  may  be  secured. 

There  is  but  one  drawback  to  Florida  camping, 
that  is  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  good  drinking- 
water.  In  some  of  the  rivers,  as,  for  example,  the 
Kissimee,  the  water  is  good,  and,  strange  to  say, 
cold.  But  in  many  it  is  extremely  doubtful. 
Curiously  enough,  the  very  clear  water  is  usually 
the  most  harmful.  Away  from  the  rivers  very  fair 


320     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

water  may  be  obtained  from  the  sand  flats.  These 
are  sandy  depressions  of  sometimes  many  acres  in 
extent  in  which  the  rain  water  collects.  By  way 
of  precaution  it  is  usually  best  to  boil  and  filter  the 
water  before  using  it,  if  there  is  any  doubt  as  to 
the  quality.  There  are  three  principal  ways  of 
camping  in  Florida  :  driving  with  outfit  to  suitable 
ground,  canoeing  or  boating,  carrying  complete 
outfit,  and  house  boating,  if  this  may  be  called 
camping.  Each  has  its  own  advantages.  Where 
one  doesn't  wish  to  change  constantly  and  there  is 
a  really  good  place,  it  is  easy  and  satisfactory  to  be 
driven  or  carried  by  steamer  to  the  spot,  and  there 
make  a  comfortable  camp.  If  necessary  have  fresh 
provisions  brought  once  in  a  while.  In  this  way  I 
have  spent  weeks  camping  by  myself  not  far  from 
the  everglades,  fifty  miles  from  the  nearest  villages, 
and  once  a  week  a  man  came  with  his  wagon  and 
renewed  my  supplies.  Travelling  in  one's  own  boat, 
be  it  canoe  or  flat-bottom  boat,  is  delightful,  and 
has  the  great  charm  of  making  one  feel  extremely 
independent.  Owing  to  the  shallowness  of  the 
water  it  is  well  to  have  a  boat  of  very  light 
draught — not  more  than  four  or  five  inches.  The 
house-boat  is  comfortable  of  course,  but  its  range 
is  so  restricted  that  it  is  scarcely  to  be  recommended 
except  in  certain  favourable  localities. 

The  few  things  necessary  to  one's  comfort  in  so 
genial  a  climate  constitute  one  of  its  greatest  charms. 
In  the  way  of  clothing  all  that  is  needed  is  just 
what  light  things  we  use  during  the  summer  months, 
with  the  addition  of  one  warm  suit  of  underwear 
and  a  sweater.  These  are  necessary  only  in  case  of 


CAMPING   FOR   ALL   SEASONS     321 

a  norther,  when  the  temperature  falls  very  suddenly 
to  freezing  point  or  thereabouts,  and  the  change, 
coming  as  it  does  at  a  few  hours'  notice,  makes  one 
very  sensitive  to  the  cold ;  warm  clothing  will 
therefore  be  most  welcome.  Any  ordinary  foot- 
wear will  answer,  but  it  is  not  advisable  to  use 
expensive  waterproof  boots,  as  the  scrub  palmetto, 
with  its  saw-like  edges,  will  cut  the  leather.  Rubber 
hip -boots  will  be  found  useful  for  those  who  object 
to  getting  their  feet  wet.  Heavy  canvas  leggings 
protect  one's  legs  from  the  palmetto  and  are  there- 
fore to  be  recommended.  Unless  you  expect  to 
camp  in  swamps,  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  burden 
yourself  with  air  mattress  or  any  other  kind  of 
portable  bed.  If  you  are  in  a  palmetto  country, 
the  palmetto  will  make  a  bed  fit  for  anyone. 
Either  the  scrub  or  cabbage  variety  answers  almost 
equally  well.  To  make  the  bed,  gather  a  number 
of  the  leaves,  split  them  into  several  parts,  and  lay 
the  pieces  smoothly  to  a  depth  of  six  or  eight  inches. 
The  result  will  be  a  springy  cushion  equal  to,  or 
better  than,  a  well-made  bed  of  balsam  boughs. 
Should  you  not  be  able  to  find  palmetto,  use 
Spanish  moss,  tearing  it  apart  very  thoroughly 
to  avoid  lumps.  This,  if  carefully  arranged,  makes 
a  comfortable  bed,  but  it  should  be  aired  every 
day.  A  waterproof  sheet  laid  over  either  of 
these  beds  is  advisable  and,  as  Florida  nights  are 
nearly  always  fairly  cold,  be  sure  to  have  enough 
blankets. 

The  provision-list  need  not  include  any  canned 
meats,  as  there  is  game  in  abundance  in  nearly  all 
parts  of  Florida,  and  it  must  be  a  poor  sportsman 

W.L.C.  Y 


822     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

who  cannot  get  enough  for  food  purposes.  Ducks 
of  several  varieties  are  to  be  found  in  immense 
numbers,  both  inland  and  on  the  coast.  Shore 
birds,  too,  are  abundant,  while  quail,  doves,  snipe, 
plover  and  curlew  are  common  in  suitable  localities. 
Deer  are  becoming  somewhat  scarce,  but  in  the 
more  remote  regions  they  are  still  to  be  found. 
Fox-squirrels,  which  are  excellent  eating,  are  plenti- 
ful in  the  cypress  swamps,  and  may  often  be  seen 
in  the  pine-lands.  Not  many  years  ago  wild  turkeys 
were  very  numerous.  To  see  thirty  or  forty  in  a 
day  was  not  at  all  unusual,  but  thanks  to  the  pot- 
hunters they  have  been  killed  off  in  such  numbers 
that  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  before  they  will  no 
longer  be  reckoned  among  the  game  birds  of 
Florida.  The  fishing  throughout  the  State  is  so 
remarkable  that  to  give  any  true  account  of  it 
would  be  to  place  oneself  in  the  awkward  position 
of  being  a  teller  of  fish  stories.  In  the  inland 
waters  and  on  the  coast,  fishing  of  many  kinds  can 
be  had,  and  the  table  may  be  supplied  with  scarcely 
any  effort.  On  the  west  coast  oysters  are  to  be 
had  for  the  gathering.  At  low  tide  beds  of  them 
may  be  found  scarcely  a  foot  below  the  surface, 
while  the  small  "  coon  oysters  "  are  high  and  dry. 
Another  article  of  food  furnished  by  the  country 
is  the  "  cabbage " l  from  the  cabbage  palmetto. 
Taking  it  means  killing  the  tree,  but  in  the  wilds, 
where  they  are  common,  that  does  not  matter  very 
much.  These  cabbages,  if  young,  are  palatable 

1  The  palmetto  cabbage  is  the  core  of  budding  leaves  which  is 
cut  out  of  the  top  of  the  tree.  The  outer  leaves  are  peeled  off 
and  the  inner  ones  are  boiled  as  cabbage. 


CAMPING   FOR   ALL    SEASONS     323 

and  scarcely  more  difficult  to  digest  than  our  own 
garden  cabbage. 

To  those  who  have  never  been  in  Florida  a  few 
words   descriptive   of    the    conditions   to   be   met 
with  may  not  be  out  of  -place.     The  country  is 
divided    into   hummocks,   prairies,   open   swamps, 
cypress  swamps,  live  oak  woods,  palmetto  "  islands," 
and  the  endless  and  somewhat  uninteresting  wastes 
of  stunted   pine-lands.      Hummocks   are  thickly- 
wooded  places  where  the  soil  is  rich,  but,  owing  to 
the  usual  dense  tangle  of  briars  and  scrub,  they  are 
more  or  less  inaccessible.      In  these  the  shooting 
is  good  if  you  can  get  at  it.     Bears,  wild-cats  and 
other  animals  hide  in  these  jungles,  knowing  full 
well  that  they  will  be  safe  from  the  attacks  of  men. 
A  Florida  prairie  is  a  restricted  low,  sandy  flat  with 
a  thin   and   irregular   scattering   of  poor  grasses. 
Here   and  there  are  small   shallow  pools   around 
which  birds  flock  in  great  numbers.     Deer,  wild 
pigs  (descendants  of  the  domestic  pig),  as  well  as 
coons  and  other  "  varmints,"  frequent  these  prairies. 
They  are  the  feeding-places  for  the  stately  whopping 
crane,  and  sometimes  turkey  may  be  seen  along  the 
edges.    The  open  swamps,  which  form  a  considerable 
part  of  the  country,  especially  of  the  southern  half, 
are  full  of  water-fowl  of  many  kinds,  but  it  is  in  the 
cypress  swamp  that  the  finest  shooting  is  to  be  had. 
These  cypress  swamps  are  scattered  throughout  the 
country,  being  very  abundant  in  some   localities. 
Each   of  the  smaller  ones   is  a  pond,   frequently 
seven  or  eight  feet  in  depth,  surrounded  by  a  belt  of 
cypress  trees  and  a  scant  growth  of  myrtle  and 
other  bushes.     On  the  outer  edge  of  the  belt,  maple 

Y  2 


324     WILD  LIFE  AND  THE  CAMERA 

trees  are  interspersed  with  the  cypress  ;  outside  of 
the  tree  belt  is  a  flat  strip  of  land,  sometimes  with, 
but  more  often  without,  any  grass  or  other  vegeta- 
tion. This  strip  may  be  anywhere  from  fifty  to 
three  or  four  hundred  feet  wide,  and  is  usually 
bordered  by  palmettos  and  pine-land.  Some  of 
the  cypress  swamps  are  of  immense  size,  and,  I 
believe,  are  over  forty  miles  in  length.  In  these 
swamps  nearly  every  kind  of  animal  and  bird 
incidental  to  Florida  may  be  found,  and  the 
opportunities  for  both  shooting  and  photographing 
are  most  excellent.  Usually  palmetto  "  islands " 
exist  in  the  neighbourhood  of  cypress  swamps. 
These  "  islands  "  are  slightly  above  the  level  of  the 
surrounding  country,  and  are  therefore  dry  and  well 
adapted  for  camping  sites.  The  cabbage  palmetto 
affords  shade,  the  dry  leaves  are  good  kindling, 
while  the  green  leaves  are  used  for  the  bed.  The 
live  oak  country  has  little  to  recommend  it  except 
that  it  offers  the  most  beautiful  of  camping  sites, 
and  bedding  in  abundance,  as  the  trees  are  usually 
festooned  with  immense  quantities  of  Spanish  moss. 
The  wood  of  the  live  oak  is  not  suitable  for  a  camp 
fire,  as  its  smoke  inflames  the  eyes  to  a  painful 
degree.  Of  all  the  dreary  things  there  is  nothing 
in  nature  more  dreary  than  Florida  pine-land,  after 
the  novelty  of  it  has  worn  off;  dead  level  for  the 
most  part,  with  scrubby  pine  trees  thinly  scattered, 
miserable,  low,  stunted  scrub  palmetto,  with  wire- 
like  grass  still  more  thinly  scattered.  Between 
this  wretched  growth  is  the  dry  sand. 

This  is  the  Florida  pine-land  as  seen  from  the 
train  for  hour  after  hour  as  one  passes  through  the 


CAMPING   FOR  ALL   SEASONS     325 

country,  and  yet  we  find  a  certain  fascination  in  the 
very  monotony  of  such  scenery  when  we  walk  or 
ride  through  it,  and  not  the  least  among  its  winter 
attractions  are  the  robins  and  bluebirds  who,  like 
some  of  us,  spend  their  winter  in  this  balmy  climate. 
With  the  choice  of  many  and  such  different  kinds 
of  country  for  camping,  a  winter  climate  as  good 
as  can  be  had,  fishing  and  shooting  in  abundance, 
almost  endless  opportunities  for  the  camera  hunter, 
boating,  riding,  bathing  to  suit  everyone,  it  is  a 
wonder  indeed  that  more  people  do  not  take 
advantage  of  such  opportunities,  and  leave  the 
bitter  cold  of  the  north  for  this  land  where,  even 
during  the  winter  months,  nearly  every  day  is  a 
day  of  sunshine. 


INDEX 


ABOLJACKNAGESIC       (A  b  o  1  s) 

carry,  266 
Adder-tongue,  101 
Adirondacks,  the,  49 
Alder,  245  ;  the  black,  283 
Ambajeejus  Falls,  258 
Ambajeejus  Lake,  258 
Animal     photography,     outfit 

necessary  for,  18-23 
Arkansas,  148 

Au  Sable  River,  trout  of,  200 
Azalea,  101,  279 


BACKGROUNDS,    artificial,    for 

bird  photography,  10 
Bait  for  Gilbert  trout,  195-96  ; 

for  yellow -tail,  206 
"  Ballasting,"  159 
Baltimore  oriole,  12 
Bark  for  "  lean-to,"  253 
Bass  fishing,  214,  230,  245 
Bass  fly,  219,  239 
Bears,  323 
Beaver  swamps,  245 
Bird  and  animal  photography 

compared,  16-18 
Birds  and  the  camera,  9,  63-72 ; 

effect  of  heat  on,  69  ;  young, 

habits  of,  71;  responsibilities 

of  parentage,  78-9,  120-21  ; 

blood-letting  for,  87 
Bitter-sweet,  282 
Black  flies,  54,  58,  243 
Blinds,  for  caribou,  27-28  ;  for 

wild  duck,  147 
Blood-letting  for  birds,  87 
Blood  root,76,*101 


Bluebirds,  211,  235;    story  of 
"Bluey,"  75-90;  habits,  88-89 
Blue  jays,  104,  283 
Blue  swans,  161 
Boats,  folding,  197 
Boston,  252 
Brown  thrasher,  9 
Bustard,  151 
Buzzard,  turkey,  319 

CABBAGE  palmetto,  322-24 

Cabin,  trapper's,  300 

Caddis  fly,  larvae,  196 

California,  fishing  in  the  high 
Sierras,  177-200  ;  fishing  off 
Catalina  Island,  203-7 

Camera,  the,  size  for  bird 
photography,  10-11  ;  kind 
to  use  for  animal  photo- 
graphy, 18  ;  the  reflex,  21  ; 
portable  cases,  22-23  ;  birds 
and  the,  63-72 ;  sporting 
possibilities,  147 ;  in  the 
camper's  outfit,  312-13 

Camping  out,  252-53  ;  winter, 
307-13  ;  summer,  313-18  ; 
winter  camping  in  Florida, 
318-25 

Canada  jays,  30,  34,  44,  262 

Canada,  trapping  in,  298-303 

Cardinal,  the,  12 

Caribou,  migration  in  New- 
foundland, 27-45,  244-45  ; 
colour,  39-40;  cause  of  the 
migration,  40 ;  the  leads, 
40-41  ;  effect  of  captivity 
on,  42-43 

Cases,  travelling,  22-23 

Casting  for  yellow -tail,  205 


328 


INDEX 


Cat,  72  ;  house  cat,  289  ;  wild 

cat,  323 
Catalina    Island,    fishing    off, 

203-7 

Catbirds,  9,  104 
Caterpillars,  106 
Cat-tails,  278-79 
Cedar,  259-60 
Chat,  yellow-breasted,  104 
Chickadee,   the,    93-111,    257, 

270,  282 

Chipmunk,  276,  288,  291 
Clothing  outfit  for  winter  camp- 
ing, 309 

Codroy  River,  232 
Colorado,  fishing  in,  197,  199 
Columbia,  fishing  in,  200 
Conifers,  180,  279 
Coon,  288,  323 
"  Coon  oysters,"  322 
Cotton-tail,  277,  280-82,  290- 

91 
Cow-bird,  eggs  of  the,  130-31  ; 

the  vireo  and,  131-35 
Crane,  whopping,  323 
Creels,  198-99 
Crested  fly-catcher,  64-69 
Crow,  152 

Cuckoo,  European,  130 
Curlew,  322 
Currituck      Sound,      whistling 

swan  of,  157-63 
Cypress  swamps,  323-24 

DECOYS  for  wild  duck,  148.  150 

Deer,  151,  259-60,  267,  322, 
323 

Dog  tracks,  289 

Dogs,  a  trapper's,  300 

Dories,  241 

Dove,  322 

Drake,  mallard,  150 

Duck,  wild,  blinds  for,  147  ; 
decoy  for,  148,  150 ;  the 
photograph,  150 ;  habits, 
161  ;  ducks  in  Florida,  322 

"Durham  ranger,"  248 


"Dusty  miller,"  231 

"  Dutchman's  breeches,"  76 

EASTERN  brook  trout,  194,  196, 

198 
Eggs,   the   cowbird's,    130-35  ; 

the   red-eyed   vireo's,    134 ; 

the    American    woodcock's, 

140-41 
Elk,  43 

Emerson,  quoted,  287 
European  brown  trout,  194 

"  FAIRY,"  248 

Fall  River,  259 

"  Fiery  Brown,"  248 

Films,  preference  for,  22  ;  roll, 
318 

Firs,  180 

Fishing,  sea-trout,  in  New 
Brunswick,  211-22;  trout, 
177-200 ;  yellow-tail,  off 
Catalina  Island,  203-7 

Fishing-tackle,  effect  of  dry 
climate  on,  197-98 

Flashlight  work,  23 

Fledglings,  young  in  nest,  8-10; 
young  birds  feeding,  14  ;  the 
red -eyed  vireo,  134-35;  wood- 
cock, 141 

Flies,  for  rainbow  trout,  196 ; 
for  sea-trout,  212,  219  ;  for 
salmon,  227,  229-30,  231-32, 
248-50 

Florida,  yellow-tail  of,  207  ; 
trapping  in,  298 ;  winter 
camping  in,  318-25 ;  con- 
ditions in,  323-25 

"  Fluff,"  82 

Fly-catchers,  crested,  64-69 

Fly-fishing,  198 

Food  for  camping  out,  311-12, 
317,  321-22 

Fox,  the,  277,  280,  293  ;  tracks, 
289 ;  a  cross,  302 ;  silver, 
302-3 

Fox-squirrel,  322 


INDEX 


329 


Francis,  Joe,  Indian  guide,  268 
Fredericton,  211 

GAFFS,  205,  251 

Gaff-topsails,  39 

Gander  Eiver,  232 

Gentian,  182 

Golden  rod,  282 

Goldfinch,  282 

Goose,     wild,     149-53,     245  ; 

habits,  151,  161-62 ;  baiting, 

152-53 

Grand  Eiver,  232 
Grasshopper,  89,  124,  195 
Great  Lakes,  159 
Grilse,  228,  231,  237 
Grilse  rods,  240,  247 
Grosbeaks,  82 
Grouse,  266,  268 
Grouse,  ruffed,  262,  277,  282, 

290 

Gulls,  206 
Gum  trees,  167-68 

HACKLES,  196 
Hare,  tracks,  292 
Harry's  Kiver,  232 
Hawk,  the,  140,  151,  280 
Headgear  for  camping  out,  309, 

310 

Hens,  'possums  and,  167-73 
Hepatica,  76,  101 
High  Sierras,    fishing    in    the, 

177-200 

Holder,  Mr.  Charles  P.,  206 
Hooks    for    yellow-tail,    206  ; 

double  and  single,  250 
Horse  fly,  67 
Hummocks,  323 

INCH-WORM,  106 

Indigo  bird,  photographing  the, 

14-15  ;   habits,  15-16 
Individuality  of  birds,  10 
Instantaneous  photo  work,  105 
Isochromatic  plates,  141-42 


JAY,   the  Canada,   30,   34,  44, 

262  ;   blue,  104,  283 
"Jock  Scott,"   229,   230,   231, 

248 

Joe,  trapper,  300-303 
John,  guide,  211-19 
Junco,  the,  282 
Juniper,  183 

KATAHDIN    Brook,    263,    266, 

270 

Katahdin,  Mount,  257-71 
Katepskonegan  rapids,  265 
Kern  River,  fishing  in  the,  177, 

184-95 

Kissimee  River,  319 
Klamath  River,  193 

LAUREL,  279 

Leaders,  necessity  for  good,  250 

Leads,  caribou,  40-41 

Lenses,  telephoto,  19-21 

Licence,  rod,  246  note 

Long  Island,   Montauk   Point, 

150-51  ;  swans,  157 
Lupin,  180,  182 
Lynx,  trap  for,  299 

MAINE,  253,  262 

Mallard  drake,  150 

Mariposa  lily,  180 

Marten,  trap  for,  299 

McCloud  River,  199 

"  McGinty,"  220-22 

Mice,  279,  280,  289,  290,  302; 

habits,  293 
Michigan,  200 
Mink,  277,  280-82,  288;  tracks, 

291-93  ;  traps  for,  299,  301  ; 

skins,  303 

Missouri,  trout,  200 
Moccasin,  319 
Moccasins,  309 
"  Mockingbird  food,"  87 
Montauk  Point,  wild  geese  of, 

150-51 


330 


INDEX 


Moose,  221,  261  ;  a  cow-moose, 

262-63 

Moosebirds,  262 
Morcross,  257,  271 
Mosquitoes,  54,  241,  243,  316, 

319 

Mountain  ponies,  179,  181,  183 
Mules,  181,  197 
Muskalunge,  245 
Musk-rat,  168,  288  ;    trap  for, 

299-300  ;    skin,  302 

"  NEST  containing  eggs,"  8 

Nest,  the  red-eyed  vireo's, 
69-70,  131-32 ;  the  oven- 
bird's,  71-72;  the  chicka- 
dee's, 99 ;  the  worm-eat- 
ing warbler's,  117-18;  the 
American  woodcock's,  139 
-43  ;  the  whistling  swan's, 
159-60 

Netting  for  salmon,  227,  232-33 

New  Brunswick,  sea-trout  of, 
211-22 

Newfoundland,  the  caribou 
migration,  27-45 ;  fishing 
season  in,  225-33,  247-48; 
to  get  at,  251-52  ;  camping 
out  in,  253 

New  York,  66,  90,  141,  288 

Niagara  Falls,  159 

Nissuee,  199 

North  Sydney,  226 

"  No-see-ems,"  58 

O'CONNOR,    DENNIS,   story   of 

'possums,  170-73 
Opossum,  the,  hair  of,  in 
chickadee's  nests,  99  and 
note ;  habits,  167,  288 ;  a 
story  of  two  'possums,  167- 
73 

Oregon,  185  ;   trout,  200 
"  O'Shaughnessy  "  hook,  206 
Otter,  value  of  skin,  288,  302  ; 

trap  for,  300 
Oven  bird,  the,  71-72 


Owl,  277,  280  ;   habits,  167 
Oyster,  322 

PACK  baskets,  310 

Palmetto,  321 

Palmetto  "  islands,"  324 

Paper  hornet,  nest  of,  70 

Partridge  berry,  262 

Passaic  Eiver,  168 

Passamagamet  carry,  263,  265 

Passamagamet  Lake,  259 

"  Patridge,"  262 

Penobscot  River,  258 

Pig,  wild,  323 

Pine-land,  Florida,  324-25 

Pintail,  149 

Pitcher  plant,  261 

Placentia  River,  232 

Plate-holders,  21-22 

Plates,  isochromatic,  141-42 

Plover,  322 

Pockwockomus  carry,  265 

Porcupine,  the  Canadian,  49  ; 
story  of  a  porcupine  hunt, 
49-60  ;  habits,  50-51,  293 

Port-aux-Basques,  226 

Prairie  in  Florida,  323 

Pummadumcook  Lake,  257, 
258,  271 

Pump  gun,  162 

QUAIL,  277,  322 

RABBITS,  221-22,  288-90,  292 
Rapids,    poling    through    the, 

263-66 

Rattlesnakes,  319 
Red-eyed  vireo,  69-71, 101,  104 
Redwood,   180  ;    giant  forests, 

192-93 
Reels,  for  trout  fishing,   198  ; 

for  salmon  fishing,  250-51 
Reflex  camera,  21 
Restigouche  River,  246 
Rhododendron,  279 
Rifle  shooting,  161 
Robins,  270,  325 


INDEX 


331 


Robinson's  River,  232 

Rods,  care  of,  197-98  ;    grilse, 

228,  247  ;  two-handed,  247 
Roosevelt,  Mr.  Theodore,  193 
"  Royal  coachman,"  239,  249 

ST.  JOACHIM,  181 

St.  John,  252 

Salinonier  River,  232 

Salmon,     the     Atlantic,     194 ; 

catching    a    first,     225-30 ; 

habits,  231,  248 
Salmon  fishing,  outfit  for,  230- 

32  ;    flies  for,  248-50  ;    best 

time  for,  251 
San  Diego  County,  193 
San  Louis  Bay,  193 
Sand  flats  of  Florida,  320 
Sandy  River,  39,  41 
Scarlet  painted-cup,  182 
Sea  trout  in  New  Brunswick, 

211-22 
Sequoia,  180 
Shasta,  Mount,  199 
"  She,"  82 
Shrew,  tracks,  290 
Sierra  Nevadas,  199 
"  Silver  doctor,"  212,  214,  227, 

230,  231,  248 
Sleeping    outfit    for    camping, 

308-9 

Smudges,  316 
Snakes,  318-19 
Snipe,  322 
Snowbird,  262 
Snowshoes,  308-10 
South  Orange,  N.J.,  99  note 
Spanish  moss,  321,  324 
Sparrows,  270 
Spruce,  180 
Squirrel,  the  red,  262,  266,  270, 

276,  280,  288,  290,  291  ;   the 

grey,   276,   290 ;    the  white, 

290;    tracks,  291-92 
Stalking  of  wild  geese,  151-52  ; 

of  swans,  161 
Sunflowers,  182 


Swan,  the  whistling,  arrival  at 
Currituck  Sound,  157-58 ; 
speed,  158-59  ;  habits,  159- 
61  ;  the  whistler  and  trum- 
peter compared,  160-61  ; 
protection  of  the,  161-63  ; 
the  blue  swan,  161 

Syringa,  180 

TANAGERS,  104 

Telephoto  work,  153 ;  lenses 
for,  19-21 

Tents  for  winter  camping,  310- 
11  ;  for  summer  camping, 
314-16 

Trapping,  288 ;  life  of  a  trapper, 
297-303 

Traps,  kinds  of.  299-300 

Trolling  in  yellow -tail  fishing, 
205 

Trout,  Kern  River,  177  ;  Gil- 
bert, 177,  194 ;  golden,  177, 
184,  189-93  ;  rainbow,  185- 
89,  193,  195,  199 ;  Eastern 
brook,  194,  196,  198  ;  Euro- 
pean brown,  194 ;  various 
species,  199-200  ;  sea-trout 
of  New  Brunswick,  211-22; 
habits,  230,  231  ;  trout  and 
salmon  fishing  compared, 
242;  as  food,  316-17 

Trumpeter  swan,  160-61 

Turkey,  wild,  322,  323 

VIREO,  red-eyed,  69-71,  101, 
104  ;  and  the  cow -bird,  129- 
35 

Virginia  deer,  the,  39 

Visalia,  179 

Volcano  Creek,  177,  184,  190 

WADERS,  199,  253-54 
Warbler,    104 ;     worm-eating, 

64,  115-25 
Washington,  200 
Water  in  Florida,  319-20 
Weasel,  293,  302 


332 


INDEX 


Western   Oregon,   brook  trout 

of,  199-200 
Whisky  jacks,  262 
White  lilac,  180 
Whitney,  Mount,  190 
Wild  birds  photographed,  5-16 
"Wilkinsons,"  212 
Winthrop,  quoted,  263 
Woodchuck,  288 
Woodcock,  American,  breeding 

habits,  139-43 


Woodpecker,  70,  116,  257 
Wood-thrush,  9,  11-14,  70,  104, 

133 
Worm-eating  warbler,  64,  115- 

25 


"  YELLOW  SALLY,"  238,  239, 
249 

Yellow-tail  fishing,  203-5  ;  out- 
fit for,  206-7 


BRADBURY,    AGNEW,   &   CO.    LD.,   1'KINTKKS,    LONDON   AND   TONBBIDOE. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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